


Turbulence

by MagpieTales



Series: Long Haul Saga [1]
Category: Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:16:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 184,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3725143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieTales/pseuds/MagpieTales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Long Haul Saga Part I:</b> Life is unpredictable and it disrupts the best laid plans of man, woman and vampire alike. It's three years since the events of Dead Ever After. Three years since Eric went to Oklahoma to marry Freyda, three years since Sookie settled for a life in Bon Temps. But those years have not passed smoothly for either of them.<br/>Sookie and Eric POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Head On

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to Charlaine Harris for the inspiration, her wonderful world and characters. I’ve had a blast 'borrowing' them, but they’re all hers.  
> This is the first of three main stories, and probably half a dozen shorts in the Long Haul Saga. Long Haul follows canon up to Death in the Family; up to Dead Ever After it's loosely canon, true to the major plots, but not the details. So Alternate Universe-ish for the last three books and certainly after that.  
> Be warned: Turbulence is not light and fluffy, I put these guys through the wringer. It's not for the faint hearted, this is an adult story and covers some serious topics. It's M for that, rather than graphic lemons or gory violence.  
> Highlight here to see spoiler-ish content warnings:  
> Turbulence contains divorce, domestic violence, miscarriage, torture, some character deaths.

* * *

_I was determined to face things head-on._

* * *

 

I was a mess. I’d been a mess for the last fortnight.

The first week I’d stayed home, grieving and miserable. Sam had been as attentive as he could be with the demands of the bar, and he’d felt just as bad as I did. Hey, misery loves company right? We’d spent the first few days wallowing together curled up on the couch in front of mindless TV shows.

He had my responsibilities on top of his own to deal with though, one of the downsides of running a business together, so he’d reluctantly gone back to work after I’d reassured him repeatedly that I would be perfectly fine alone. The official story was flu, so most everybody had stayed away. Especially Tara, the one I least wanted to see. Michele had phoned twice to ask if I needed anything and she’d commiserated with me over my hoarseness.

Flu had certainly fit my bedraggled appearance, the half-eaten bowl of soup and the sizeable pile of used tissues on the couch when Kennedy had dropped in to visit on her day off. She had known it wasn’t flu. We’d had an awkward conversation during which I’d skirted around the elephant in the room and kept up the flu story, trying not to notice the pity in her eyes and hoping desperately that she’d keep the whole thing to herself. It had been bad enough dealing with the gossip last time.

The following week I’d forced myself to get out of bed every day, even if I hadn’t always gotten dressed. I’d made it in to the bar for a few afternoon shifts, and I’d brought paperwork home so I could make some attempt to pull my weight. I’d stayed in the office while I was at work, speaking to as few people as possible claiming I was still under the weather. At least my pale drawn appearance had matched the flu story, and people were either too polite or too busy to question it.

I had been tired, exhausted really: that dragging fatigue that comes after blood loss hit me hard. Sam had taken to making breakfast for me. He was often gone before I managed to drag myself to the kitchen to find a plate left in the oven, and I was often asleep before he came home. We hadn’t had a lot of time together to talk. What time we did, I’d been listless and he’d been tired and irritable, neither of us up to serious conversation.

So I wasn’t prepared for his announcement on Sunday.

…

Sam had gone off to church as normal, and by the time he came back I had made it to the kitchen. I was wearing my rattiest robe and eating ice cream direct from the tub.

Yes, I was still wallowing. I felt like my skin had been sandpapered raw and the slightest breeze, the slightest pressure of even the most innocent glance or thought from anybody would set me off on another bout of tears or angry ranting. I just couldn’t stand to be around people. Even Gran would have allowed me my pity party this time, I was sure. She would have understood my gnawing grief.

Sam clattered through the back porch, humming cheerfully. The happy noise grated on me, but I tried to quash my irritation. He was just happy; he enjoyed the socialising every Sunday. I told myself it wasn’t his fault I was in this sensitive mood, and I gave him a weak smile as he bent to kiss my cheek. I caught the feeling of concern from him, saw the frown as he took in my appearance and my choice of breakfast foods. He smoothed that away quickly, and he smiled encouragingly at me before saying, “You need to get out of the house. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

It was Thanksgiving in a few days, something which had barely registered with me. It turned out that Sam’s idea to lift me out of my funk was to surprise me, at the last minute, with a plan to take off to his hometown Wright for the whole week for some much needed R&R. We could goof off, go to the river and enjoy ourselves, he said. Terry and Kennedy were all set to cover for us, his mom Bernie was expecting us, and he clearly thought it was a wonderful idea and just what I needed.

I wanted to scream.

I tried. I really did. I tried to explain patiently that the last thing I needed was Bernie, Mindy and Deidra all fussing over me, that I wasn’t ready for a big family get-together. He insisted we go. I insisted on staying home.

Before too long we were both fit to be tied, standing inches apart and speaking through clenched teeth. Eventually my temper got the better of me, my mouth and my common sense, and I committed the cardinal sin of criticising a man’s mother. Even worse, what I actually blurted out was that I damn well didn’t want to hear any more of Bernie’s snide thoughts about my weight or my ‘tainted past’ causing all our problems.

Sam’s hand was on my arm so I felt his immediate flash of anger, but far worse I also caught his underlying unease that she might be right. I automatically gasped and pulled away from him, and he must have realised what I’d heard from my hurt expression.

“Stay out of my head!” he yelled in frustration, reminding me forcefully of Jason as a teenager. “I can’t control every damn thought I have.”

His mind was seething with regret, guilt, frustration and anger. Without another word, he stomped to our room. I stood in the kitchen shaking with anger, listening to him thumping around. He emerged with a packed bag, and he threw me a terse: “We need some time apart, before I _think_ something else you don’t like. You need to snap out of this.”

Then he stalked out of the house, jumped in his truck, and left me with a spray of gravel.

I was ready to spit nails. I did some stomping of my own, threw a glass at the wall and yelled at the top of my voice. Then I cried myself miserable again.

Once I finally calmed down, it dawned on me that Sam had been struggling to prevent himself shifting. I felt incredibly guilty. I knew better than to push him at his ‘time of the month’. I usually kept track of the full moon but that was just another thing I’d been neglecting. I looked it up on the kitchen calendar and found it was still over a week away. Shit. He should be fine; I’d really pushed him this time.

I called and left a very rambling guilty apology on his voice-mail. I knew he wouldn’t pick it up until he’d finished the long drive to Wright. He usually phoned me back tout-de-suite after one of my pathetic post-fight calls, but this time he didn’t. He just sent a short text that said: **Arrived safe.**

It was the first time since our engagement that he’d gone to Texas alone, the first time we’d been apart for more than a night or two since the wedding.

It was not a good sign.

…

I woke early Monday morning.

I was curled around Sam’s pillow, surrounded by his woodsy smell and more crumpled tissues. My neck was stiff from my awkward position, and my stubbornly silent phone was still right beside me on the bed.

Huh, I’d show him stubborn. I knew it was childish but I’d already reached out to him with my apology, and if he was giving me the silent treatment I was not going to humble myself further by phoning him first. It was his turn, dammit.

I rubbed my eyes and shuffled to the bathroom to take care of business. I splashed cold water on my face, washing off the saltiness and studiously pretending not to notice that the mirror was taunting me with my swollen eyes and the dark circles underneath them. Then my stomach growled loudly. I snorted in surprise and realised I was ravenous.

Well, it was time to woman up, put on my big girl panties and climb out of the swamp I’d been wallowing in.

First I checked the kitchen while the coffee brewed. Yep, we were fully stocked for the week. Nothing fancy, but enough staples and canned goods to see me through. Good. I did _not_ feel like a trip to the store.

I grabbed that first-of-the-day, oh-so-sweet cup of coffee and gulped it down while I made some French toast. Quick and filling, just what the doctor ordered. I winced at that thought. I ate quickly, washing it down with more coffee. I refused to feel the slightest bit of guilt. Sam was not here, so there was no need to be caffeine-free today. I pushed down a swell of regret, and concentrated on clearing the dishes.

I needed something to keep me busy, keep me moving. I needed to outrun the ache, the guilt and the constant what-ifs.

So I dressed in sweats, and I cleaned.

I cleaned for three days straight, barely stopping to grab meals and a nightly shower before bed. I washed the blinds, wiped down the ceiling fans, washed windows, and pulled all the contents out of the kitchen cabinets and wiped out the shelves. I swept out all the neglected corners I could find, dusted ornaments and pictures, tidied closets and dressers. Bagged up things to take to good will. Raked leaves in the thin November sunshine.

Nobody called, nobody visited: I guess they all thought I’d gone with Sam. That was fine with me. I needed time. Space.

By Wednesday night I was exhausted. I hadn’t been sleeping at all well lately, but finally I’d tired myself out enough to fall into a deep peaceful sleep. Thursday morning broke bright and sunny, and finally my mood was lifting. I wasn’t turning cartwheels or singing songs, but I was calm. I made myself pancakes and bacon as a treat, and took my plate and my second cup of coffee out to the front porch to sit in the sun.

I ate slowly and allowed my mind to wander.

The pretty blue planters that Sam had given me for our first anniversary caught my eye. The flowers in them needed dead heading again, I thought absently.

That night we’d eaten at Crawdad Diner with Tara and JB, and Jason and Michele. Sam had had Terry set up the planters while we were out. Sam had been so pleased he’d managed to surprise me. It was the perfect ending to a lovely evening. I sighed, realising that was just fifteen months ago, but it seemed like another lifetime. There had been precious few evenings like that in the last year.

I looked out to the tree line, thinking bleak thoughts. I sighed again. Then I squared my mental shoulders. This couldn’t go on. I had to face up to the state of my marriage. I wasn’t a coward, Lord knows some of the things I’d done required a lot more bravery than this. But it was hard to admit to myself how screwed up things were between us.

I knew deep down in my bones that admitting that was the first tiny trickle that could grow into a roaring flood with the power to sweep away everything that seemed so permanent in my life, the life I’d spent the last three years building for myself. It could change my whole landscape and I wasn’t sure what would be left amongst the detritus, broken and washed-up.

I drew in a deep breath and acknowledged my deepest fear.

Divorce.

Divorce that could lose me not just my husband but also my closest friend, as they were one and the same.

And worse, a divorce would tear apart more than just our friendship. The ripples would spread out beyond us: our lives, our business, our families and our friends were all intertwined.

I would be a divorced woman. Again.

It would be worse than the first time. Everybody would know. Bon Temps was a small town, and I knew the worst of what its citizens thought about divorced women, even if they didn’t say it out loud.

On top of that, I would be the first of my close circle to divorce, possibly the only one. Tara, Amelia and even Kennedy all seemed to have settled into if not constant wedded bliss at least contented stability. I didn’t know if any of them would understand.

Two divorces in barely three and half years. That sounded terrible. But at least this time it would be my choice to make, I thought bitterly, my choice whether to stay to salvage something or walk away.

I shook myself. Enough. I was going to meet this head-on, literally. I was going to sit here and use my head, _think_ logically about my marriage, work out how I felt, where it had gone wrong and what I should do about it.

Right after I got another coffee, and a notebook to jot down ideas.

…

I got settled on the porch with everything I needed and thought back to that summer.

Everything had been so scrambled, so mixed up. The very first flicker of something between me and Sam had triggered a reflex to push him away, but I’d still been processing the emotional aftershocks of extricating myself from a murder charge and from my last relationship, which had been a difficult one to say the least. I hadn’t been ready to start another.

Once things had calmed down and life was quiet, there had been plenty of opportunity to interact with Sam. Heck, we could hardly avoid one another running Merlotte’s together. There had been a little awkwardness at first, but we’d soon settled back into our mostly comfortable friendship. We’d gone on a few ‘dates’ with other couples at first, so they were less dates and more just having fun together. I’d been aware that he wanted more, of course, but he’d been willing to take it slow as I’d asked.

I appreciated that we’d both wanted to build a firm foundation. I made a note of that. Foundation – friendship. And underlined it heavily.

Had we taken it slow? I thought carefully. We certainly hadn’t jumped into bed together again immediately, but neither of us had gone looking for anyone else either. It had felt inevitable in some ways. Easy, natural. Natural like a shifter’s nature I thought with a grin. By that first Halloween we’d been officially dating.

The physical side of things had progressed nicely, and I’d started spending a few nights a week at Sam’s. I would bring some clothes for the morning after, and luckily the back lot was deserted first thing so no gossips witnessed my ‘walks of shame’. I’d make sure to get across to the bar early, just in case.

It hadn’t been just physical though: we’d spent plenty of time chilling out together and talking. And we’d spent time with friends, with Jason and Michele. We’d had a lot of fun together. I knew those things were important.

Hmm. A thought occurred to me. Did we only do the deed at Sam’s trailer back then? I searched my memories. Yes, I think once we’d come back to mine after a movie and got hot and heavy on the couch, but I’d stopped him and claimed tiredness. Why wasn’t I comfortable with that in my own house? I made a note on the pad to come back to that.

Anyway, things had gone so well that Sam had invited me to spend some time in Wright with him between Christmas and New Year’s. Christmas Day we’d spent here, and I smiled at the memory. Tara and JB had come for the meal, and the twins had slept as much as we could have hoped, allowing Tara a chance to relax properly and eat. Jason and Michele had arrived later, and they were both glowing. I had known why of course, thanks to my little quirk. Michele had discovered she was expecting, but they’d held off on announcing it. From their thoughts they’d both been ecstatic, but Jason was cautious after what had happened with Crystal. I flinched thinking of that, but pressed on.

It had been such a good day – friends, family, boyfriend – just perfectly normal, happy, ordinary things that thousands of Americans were enjoying that day. They just happened to be things I’d never been sure I’d have, things that had been drifting further out of reach for me with all the craziness of the previous few years. That afternoon, with all of us well-fed and sprawled out in the living room, I had been extremely happy, relaxed and slightly tipsy.

Then, out of the blue, Sam had gotten down on one knee in the middle of the room, in front of God and everybody.

I’d frozen in surprise. It's not often a telepath is surprised, but I'd been shielding all day with it being Christmas and keeping out of Sam's head in particular. He'd been very secretive about my present, and I had wanted to be surprised for him.

Boy, had that worked. The last thing I’d expected was my first ever proper proposal. I’d thought: _Wow, that’s gonna be hard to top next year._

Sam's hand had shaken as he’d pulled out a velvet box from his jeans. I'd caught Jason smirking out of the corner of my eye, and had a sudden horrified realisation that he knew because Sam had done the traditional thing and asked for his permission. Sam had stuttered in an adorably nervous way through the traditional version of the question – would I do him the honour of becoming his wife and making him the happiest man in the world? – and then he’d waited for my answer.

I concentrated on remembering the exact moment.

Everything had stilled for a second. I’d been very happy, then surprised, shocked. Then I'd felt a wave of... what exactly? What had I felt beyond surprise? Excitement? No, not exactly, more like … anticipation.

I'd said yes and Tara had squealed at practically the same time. Sam had taken my hand to slip the modest solitaire ring onto my finger. Then it was all a confusing mix of excited thoughts and verbal congratulations, Sam and everybody crowding round to hug me and see the ring.

Jason had popped open some sparkling wine he'd obviously had hidden behind his chair. Michele had scolded him for making a mess when it overflowed, and I’d rushed to the kitchen to grab a cloth, with Tara hot on my heels. She’d gushed about how great Sam was, how she had the perfect wedding dress put by for me – all while I was opening cabinets, distracted, trying to find some suitable glasses.

Something about the memory was bugging me, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

I did recall feeling shell-shocked when everyone had gone home. Including Sam, who hadn't even asked to stay which was odd. I shifted uncomfortably. Had he not felt welcome? Surely not, I’d just agreed to marry him.

I quashed my unease by recalling the definite thrill of excitement I’d felt looking at his ring that night as I got ready for bed, thinking about finally being the bride, not a bridesmaid again.

…

We’d driven over to Bernie’s the next day. It had been a short visit, and I’d been a bundle of nerves. The previous time I’d been to Sam’s hometown some of the locals had been less than welcoming to say the least, but that Christmas I was mostly anxious about how my future in-laws would react to me as Sam’s fiancée.

Deidra and Craig, Sam’s brother, had already arrived from Houston and the atmosphere had been much lighter than at their wedding. Deidra had noticed my ring about five seconds after I got in the house, so there’d been another round of congratulations. I’d kept my shields up tight, and my cheeks had ached from the emergency smile plastered on my face.

I had avoided Bernie’s eyes. I hadn’t been sure what she’d make of it, but I’d caught Sam grinning at her like he’d won a bet. I’d chanced a glance at her to find her smiling slightly. She certainly hadn’t been surprised. I’d realised then that Jason wasn’t the only one who had known Sam’s plans before I had.

That had made me uneasy at the time, but I’d pushed it aside.

I shook my head. With hindsight, it had been the first little sign that I should have paid much more attention to Bernie, or rather her relationship with Sam. She was very protective of him, and he deeply respected her opinion. He was her first born, her first son, and I guess that’s always a special relationship for any mother. With the added shifter factor, they were even closer.

I cussed myself out again for losing my temper on Sunday and criticising her in the heat of our argument.

The visit had passed relatively smoothly. Mindy’s kids had been excited to see ‘Aunt’ Sookie again, although not enough to stay in the house with the womenfolk when they had Uncles Sam and Craig to play with outside. There’d been a new family next door to Bernie’s, replacing the late and not at all missed Mr Collins. They were Hispanic, and the children were a little older than Mason and Bonnie, but they’d played catch over the fence with them, filling the air with joyful shouts.

The only moment of discord had occurred the next day. Doke and Mindy had taken their kids home, and Deidra and Craig were staying at her parents. We’d been allowed to sleep in the back room together now we were engaged. I’d woken first and I’d found Bernie in the small kitchen making pancakes.

She’d given me a very level look with my coffee and said, “Sam is almost back to his old self now. He seems very happy with you. Keep it that way.”

Her thoughts had been determined, fiercely protective. I’d bristled immediately – hadn’t I been a good friend to her son for years? Looked out for him, worked extra shifts, and looked after the bar when she’d got shot. Heck, I’d even brought him back to life. Of course I was going to keep him happy. I wasn’t some hard, ambitious, violent bitch like Jannalynn.

I would be good to him, and I’d said so. She’d given me a long appraising look and finally a quick nod. Sam had joined us shortly afterwards, and I’d avoided being alone with Bernie for the rest of that visit.

I’d sworn to myself then that I would be everything Sam needed. I teared up suddenly thinking about yelling at him on Sunday. I wiped at my eyes with my sleeve.

I needed to stay on track, think about the way things had started out before I got to the mess we were in today. Then maybe I could make some sense of it.

…

Back in Bon Temps, after we’d survived a wild New Year’s Eve party at Merlotte’s – it had turned into an impromptu engagement celebration when Kennedy had spotted my ring – we’d settled into our comfortable routine again.

I thought back on that time with longing. I’d been so happy. Our relationship had been easy; we’d known each other for so long.

We even had fun with my little quirk. Once Sam realised he could send me thoughts, he would send silly comments about Maxine Fortenberry’s latest piece of gossip or Michele keeping Jason leashed with just a look, trying to get me to laugh. It had been great to have someone to play around with it just for fun, not because my life was in imminent danger.

We’d had to be careful though. One busy night I’d been working in the office and he’d ‘sent’ for me to get some hard liquor from the stockroom while Andy Bellefleur was at the bar. When I’d turned up with exactly what another customer had just asked for, Andy had given me a very suspicious look. I didn’t need to be a mind reader to understand the hungry flash of interest on his face a second later; he’d been reminded how useful I could be to him. Thankfully we hadn’t had any more missing children or murders, so I guessed Andy had worked out he didn’t need me to solve the run of the mill traffic violations and domestic disputes that passed for crime in Bon Temps these days.

Yes, my quirk had been a bonus early on in our relationship. I’d even thought that being able to read Sam’s thoughts brought us closer. Of course he could shut me out if he wanted to, and I wasn’t going to go rooting around in my fiancé’s head all the time, but it was nice to have private conversations in public even if they were one-sided.

In fact the first time Sam had told me he loved me was like that.

We had thrown a cookout here at the house, the first one that spring. We’d had a mess of people over, and Jason had been standing at the grill with Sam having a serious conversation about how to cook steak just so. I‘d come down the porch steps with Tara, both of us carrying side dishes. Sam had looked straight at me and sent _‘I love you’_ to me clear as a bell. I’d managed not to drop the salad, and I’d grinned madly at him, giving him a quick kiss and a quiet ‘me too’ on the way back to the kitchen.

That was one of my favourite memories. It especially warmed my heart because my quirk had brought me more pain than joy over the years. It was one of our couple things too: he would send a warm, snarly thought of _I love you_ and I would always answer out loud: “Me too.”

I doodled idly on the corner of the notepad, thinking about that sunny day. It had been particularly warm that spring, and I’d been pleased I’d already got such an intense tan when we decided on that August for the wedding. I glanced at my list and frowned.

That cookout had been four months or so _after_ we’d got engaged, and only four months before we got married. Had we really not said ‘I-love-yous’ before we got engaged?

I was certain that was the first time.

Well, I thought doubtfully, we had known each other very well. It surely didn’t matter if we hadn’t said it, we knew what we meant to each other, didn’t we? If I hadn’t loved Sam I wouldn’t have said yes to him. He knew that. And I knew he loved me. I’d known that for a long time, deep down. He was safe, warm, my haven from it all.

I suddenly wished fervently that I could find some way back to that happiness for both of us.

…

The sun was getting higher. I got up and stretched away the stiffness, then headed inside to potter around the kitchen, heating myself some chicken noodle soup for an early lunch. It was a pretty pitiful Thanksgiving meal, but I wasn’t really hungry anyway. I just needed a break.

Once the soup was ready I took it outside again, and sat out at the picnic table Sam had put out back. I felt better out in the fresh air, even the weak sunshine was enough to perk me up. I thought about the wedding while I ate.

We’d had a small church ceremony. Thankfully there were no protesters like there had been for poor Deidra and Craig. Either Bon Temps had become more tolerant than Sam’s hometown, or the fact that it was a very small wedding and we didn’t publicise it much kept that sort of thing at bay. I’d even made Sam check that the shifter website hadn’t breathed a word about it.

We’d planned for an informal reception of sorts at the house. Sam, Jason and Hoyt had offered to man the grills and we’d organised a traditional Louisiana cookout with plenty of seafood and meat to keep all the menfolk happy. That part of the day had been very relaxed.

I’d found the build-up to the wedding quite stressful. I’d insisted on August so I could be sure that Karin, who I’d occasionally felt out in the woods as late as July, would have gone back to wherever the hell she came from. I hadn’t felt comfortable planning a family cookout with children present that would likely run past dusk when she was still patrolling the woods.

I’d been relieved when Sam had suggested talking to Amelia about reinforcing the wards on the property before the wedding. He hadn’t trusted the one Bellenos had set. So, in July – on the pretext of a weekend get-together for my birthday, said weekend fortuitously including a full moon night which was apparently good for casting strong spells – Amelia, Bob and some of their witchy friends had come up from New Orleans and put up new wards.

There’d been enough of them to put a larger ‘think-no-evil’ one out at the tree line to prevent anyone with intent to harm entering the yard. Then they re-warded the house itself with an invitation-only ward like Amelia’s original one, but including Sam. So we both had control over who came into the marital home, Sam said.

I’d also been secretly glad when, one night at Merlotte’s, I’d overheard Bill tell Catfish that he had an out of state trip around the time of the wedding. I hadn’t asked where, our friendship had been a little strained ever since he found out I was marrying Sam. I’d known he wasn’t too thrilled about it, but honestly I’d told him often enough we were never going to be a couple again. Even if he was a good kisser, that ship had sailed a long time ago.

I snorted, remembering that spring when he’d asked me if it was true I was getting married. He’d said he wasn’t surprised as I’d clearly had a thing for Sam even back when we’d been together. I had spluttered in outrage at that accusation, and he’d laughed sadly, commenting that I didn’t know my own heart. Then he’d had the nerve to ask for one last kiss before I married. I’d refused indignantly – a fiancée doesn’t kiss other men, even handsome vampire exes. Especially knowing her fiancé would be none too happy about it. Bill had seemed surprised at my refusal, but then he’d given me a deep look and a strangely satisfied smile.

We hadn't really spoken much beyond polite small talk since. Our lives didn't often cross one another's any more, and I guessed we'd just drifted apart. I thought I should feel a little sad to lose a friend, but really it was probably for the best. I liked my new uncomplicated life with its peace and its lack of life-threatening danger and near-fatal injuries. Sure, some people might think my small circle of friends, the domestic chores, the round of familiar seasonal holidays was all a bit limiting, but I was a small town gal. It sure beat all that supernatural excitement.

Of course, that was why the build-up to the wedding had been so stressful.

Not organising the flowers, the church, the guests, the food and the dress, oh no. Tara had helped with those; she’d thrown herself into it all with gusto, and I hadn't minded that she kind of took over. I’d caught the odd wistful thought about her own elopement hardly fulfilling her dream of a romantic white wedding, the one we'd both longed for as little girls, and I’d known that she was just trying to make up for that through me. And she hadn’t made it too fancy a wedding. Neither I nor Sam wanted fancy.

No, what had been stressful was worrying that even though things had been quiet for a whole year, something supernatural was crouched out there, waiting to ambush me.

It did, but not in the way I'd expected.

…

We had invited Sam's family; all that was left of mine – Jason, a ready-to-pop Michele, Hunter and Remy; Tara, Amelia and Kennedy, and their menfolk and children; and Holly and Hoyt. I’d been glad to invite Terry and his lady friend, Kennedy and Danny, and I’d been obligated to ask Halleigh and Andy as I'd been her bridesmaid. A few of Sam's friends had driven over from Wright. They’d stayed in Sam's double wide, and one of the duplexes he owned happened to be empty for Craig and Deidra, and their little one, Matthew.

We’d planned for me to host Bernie, Sam’s sister Mindy and her husband Doke, and their kids, Mason and Bonnie.

The month before we'd put in extra air-con units upstairs for them, readied the rooms, and put fold-out beds in the attic for the kids. When we'd been shopping for those beds, Sam had shyly pointed out a great bedroom set in pale oak. I'd realised then that my bedroom was really too feminine for a married couple, and the whole room needed a makeover. So I'd moved back across the hall to my childhood room and we'd got rid of the old furniture, painted the room in the more neutral cream with blue accents it had now, put in a new carpet and curtains in navy blue, and replaced the furniture. It had been hard work, but fun to do together as a couple.

Everything had been finished in time for Bernie and the family, who’d arrived the day before the wedding.

That night Sam had stayed at Jason’s and Sam’s family had gone to eat at Merlotte's, so I could have a last minute pamper session with Tara. She'd given me a mani-pedi, and marvelled at how still my hands were. My nerves had disappeared once we'd got to the night before without any hitches.

I was up early the next morning thanks to Mason and Bonnie. Breakfast was a loud and rushed affair. It had been strange to have children in the house, and I’d found myself missing Gran intensely. The atmosphere amongst the grownups had been a little strained, but I’d put it down to sleeping badly in a strange house, and then I’d been too busy getting ready with my bridesmaids, Tara and Amelia, to think on it.

The church ceremony had flown by in a blur. Sam had carried me into the house and I'd rushed to get changed so I could be the gracious Southern hostess Gran raised me to be. I'd run myself off my feet getting drinks for everybody, sorting out the food, trying to be in ten places at once, until finally Tara had run me out of the kitchen. I'd finally stopped buzzing like a fly in a hot truck and caught up with Sam. He'd been relieved to see me, and clamped me to his side. I'd found that sweet, until I realised later that he’d been shielding me from unpleasantness.

I closed my eyes, as if to ward off the next memory. With hindsight, it was a bad omen.

I'd been surprisingly nervous getting ready for my wedding night. I’d put on the lovely lacy white underwear that I'd bought and waited on the new bed I had yet to sleep in.

I’d waited. And waited.

Finally, I’d stretched out my extra sense gently, searching for Sam. I’d found him in the kitchen, along with Bernie and Mindy. My gut had clenched with anxiety; they were arguing. Mindy’s mind had been clear, easy to slip into before I'd even realised what I was doing.

Less than friendly things had been said about me by some drunks at Merlotte's the previous night. Crazy Sookie this and Crazy Sookie that. Watching it play out in Mindy’s memory I’d seen Bernie pulling her and Deidra aside in the parking lot afterwards, grimly telling them about my quirk to explain the comments. Mindy had been thoroughly shocked. She hadn’t had much contact with supes.

That slideshow had given me an awful sinking epiphany: the adults in Sam’s family had been treating me oddly all day because of Bernie’s revelation.

I'd followed the argument in the kitchen through Mindy’s eyes. Sam was livid with Bernie for doing that right before our wedding day, but Bernie had hit back. She’d said that they had every right to know I could spy on them, that they had no defence as humans. Then she spat he should have told her _everything else_. Mindy hadn't understood what she meant, and Sam had shut Bernie down, told her in no uncertain terms not to stir any more shit and stormed outside.

I'd been devastated, angry at Bernie, fearful of my in-laws reaction to my quirk, and worried about Sam.

By the time Sam came in, I'd decided to act as if nothing had happened so it wouldn't spoil things between us. I'd already turned the lights off to hide my red eyes. As he'd slid quietly under the covers, I'd turned into his embrace and we'd christened the bed without a word said. I’d felt his distraction but he’d been as determined as I was to see it through. It might not have been the sweetest loving, but I'd clung to him for comfort afterwards and he'd finally radiated contentment.

The next day things had been awkward, but once his family had left things got considerably easier. We hadn't had a honeymoon as such – we couldn't leave the bar for a whole week – but we'd had a lovely long weekend at a hotel down in New Orleans. Not that we'd seen much of the city, especially at night, but we'd sure had a lot of fun in that room. I smiled at those memories.

The next few months we'd learnt to live together, sanding smooth the rough spots in our relationship.

That had been a new experience for me: learning to deal with muddy boots, muddy paw prints, men’s toiletries in the bathroom, someone to do those little jobs around the house. Mostly it had been normal things, plus adjusting to the nights Sam shifted and his moods around full moon. I didn't mind those nights alone when he ran the woods. It was a small price to pay when he dealt with my differences without complaint.

He never mentioned the argument with Bernie on our wedding night, and I'd gratefully ignored it too, not wanting to be the source of friction between them.

I snorted. How naive that sounded now.


	2. Memory Medley

* * *

_I needed a sounding board. Someone objective, an outsider._

* * *

 

I shivered. Clouds had rolled in, and the grey sky matched my mood. I picked up my dishes from the picnic table and headed inside. Settled in the kitchen with fresh coffee, I scanned my notes. Where had I gotten to? Oh yes, a few months after the wedding…

Our visit to Wright that winter was the next time I’d laid eyes Sam’s family.

A cold snap had us all confined to Bernie's house. Anticipating tension, my warm welcome had perplexed me until I’d ‘heard’ Craig, Sam's brother, remind himself to act normal. My considerate husband had conveyed to his family how difficult my disability made things, how self-conscious it made me. I'd tried to keep out of their heads in return for their sympathetic silence on the subject.

Deidra had fallen pregnant again, and I’d accidentally ‘heard’ her relief that it was so soon after her first. I’d doubted I’d be so enthusiastic in her shoes, little Matthew was still a babe-in-arms, but she'd been eager to get her career back on track. The earlier her salary increased the better, she’d thought.

My niece Bonnie had been getting over a cold and she’d been miserable, squabbling with her brother Mason. Mindy had rolled her eyes at me, teasing that Deidra would be refereeing siblings soon enough. Deidra had just laughed at Mindy's comment and given me a sly wink, saying I'd be next. I'd spluttered into my drink, and mumbled some excuse about waiting for the right time. I'd felt Bernie’s flash of irritation, but when I'd glanced over her face was blank.

I'd been glad to get back to Bon Temps; I’d felt her watchful eyes on me too often that visit.

Sam and I had carried on quite contentedly. He'd helped with the garden planting when he could that spring. Not that the garden needed much after Niall's blessing, but it had been nice to have someone to help. With a pang of sadness, I remembered Bubba helping me rake leaves. I had no idea how the fragile vampire was. I pushed the thought away. Those days were done.

Our first Valentine's Day married, we’d generously minded the twins for Tara. Robbie and Sarah were quite a handful, and we'd been cleaning up the kitchen after JB had picked them up, laughing in amazement that the two little terrors could make so much mess with yogurt. Sam had said with a sharp intensity, “One day we’ll be cleaning up after our own kids.”

I hadn't known what to say. I mean we'd barely been married six months, and we were always so busy with the bar… It shouldn’t have wrong-footed me, obviously. We _were_ married.

We'd sat at the kitchen table over hot chocolate and made the decision. Sam had been very eager – wanting it with an urgency that amazed me. I'd caught his thought that he didn't want to wait at his age. Not that he was much older than me, but that was what spurred him on.

I’d wanted him to be happy with me more than anything. He’d make a wonderful father. And I had thought about kids once or twice. I'd had a thrill of pride that he’d chosen me for that role, and that had shown in the bedroom that night. Sam had gone to sleep very happy, if I do say so myself.

It had seemed so easy, so natural. We'd just jumped right in. We hadn't really talked that night, not about things a couple starting a family might discuss.

Normal things: We didn't discuss money, me taking time off work, how many children we both wanted.

Supernatural things: We didn't discuss any, avoided all that. I didn't mention my telepathy; he didn't mention we couldn't have a shifter child.

I wondered if it would have made a difference if we had talked it out, if we hadn’t blithely forged ahead without any kind of plan.

…

By the end of that May, my regular visit from Mother Nature had been MIA. I'd bought some tests after our talk, and I was ecstatic when that little window showed a plus. I couldn't wait to tell Sam. He'd been absolutely bursting with pride and an undercurrent of relief that I hadn't understood, but didn't question. We'd agreed to keep it to ourselves, but I couldn't help but let it slip to Tara. And of course, she in turn had let it slip to Amelia, who’d phoned to squeal and congratulate me.

Congratulations had turned out to be premature, because the unthinkable happened a few weeks later.

Sam had woken me that night, when he smelt blood. The bed had been wet with it. There followed a panicked drive to the emergency room at Clarice. I'd flip-flopped between grim shock and mild mortification in the waiting room; Sam had rushed me out of the house in my stained night gown and a blanket.

A kind, matronly nurse had shooed Sam out of the cubicle so she could help me clean up and get comfortable. She'd asked how far along I was, if it was the first time, and I'd answered numbly. She'd patted my hand gently until I'd raised my eyes to hers. She'd told me to lose one so early just meant God had called the little one back because he wasn't ready for the world. I'd nodded dumbly with tear-filled eyes, but her words hadn’t comforted me.

Neither did the gentle young doctor who came with an ultrasound machine and confirmed the worst. Sam, white-faced and tense, had asked the questions: it was quite common, it didn't mean anything was wrong, we could try again in a few months, see a doctor if the bleeding got heavier or didn't stop in a few days. All while I’d cried silently, feeling inadequate. I'd failed him.

I'd taken a few days off work. Tara had been straight round to check on me. She'd been reassuring and sympathetic, and even hearing her thoughts about how unfair it was that I never had anything easy, I’d still been grateful for her support. She'd phoned Amelia for me, which was a relief. I hadn't wanted to hear the disappointment in her voice. And I’d been so glad I hadn't told Jason. I didn't want to dredge up old hurts now he and Michele had Jason Junior.

Sam had walked on eggshells round me. He hadn’t known how to deal with my sudden floods of tears, and he felt incredibly guilty. I didn't understand why at the time.

We'd decided not to try again until the fall, so the rest of that summer I’d been happier. Our anniversary was wonderful, although it was bittersweet celebrating Jason Junior’s first birthday a week later. I got through that without Jason suspecting a thing. Or Michele, who was a darn sight harder to fool.

Labour Day Sam had driven us over to Wright. We'd had a lovely day, a cookout in Bernie’s yard with all the family. I'd even held Deidra’s gorgeous new-born Gail without shedding a tear. Then Mindy had point-blank asked me when we were starting a family, blissfully unaware of our loss that June. I'd kept my emotions locked down and calmly answered: 'In the next year, God willing.’ Sam had given me an apologetic look, and I'd shrugged back at him.

Mindy had rattled on about folic acid and vitamins. I'd cringed that I had no clue about any of that. Once we'd got home, I'd spent hours researching on my little computer. I’d picked Tara and Amelia's brains and badgered the poor pharmacist at the Minden drug store almost to tears, until I’d come away with an armful of pills, determined that nothing was going to go wrong next time.

What happened then was precisely nothing. Three months in a row. Sam had reassured me every time I was disappointed and melancholy, but it didn't work so well when I could feel his silent doubts echoing my own. But by late January I’d been peeing on sticks again.

That time we really didn't tell anybody for fear of jinxing it. Everything proceeded normally up until the Wednesday right before Easter. Sam had gone to deposit some checks at the bank before the lunch rush, leaving me in the office doing paperwork. I'd bent over to open the bottom drawer of my desk and a sharp pain shot through my abdomen. My last thought as I passed out had been complete terror that I was alone and Sam wouldn't be back for an hour.

I'd woken in the hospital. Disorientated at first, I’d asked the nurse who’d attacked me. It was a perfectly reasonable question with my history. Sam had appeared, relieved to see me awake.

While I was unconscious, they'd 'cleared me out’ as the lady doctor had charmingly put it, and because it was the second time they'd run some blood tests. She’d advised me to take the results to a specialist and kept me in overnight as I'd lost so much blood. I’d been lucky Sam had found me quickly. He'd come back almost at once for something he'd forgotten, he’d admitted, looking sheepish. Well, I'd been damn grateful for his forgetfulness.

Coming home the next day, I’d been dismayed to find casseroles and flowers covering the kitchen. I'd left Merlotte's in an ambulance. Everyone knew. Sam had mumbled they were just being neighbourly. He couldn't understand why it bothered me, but I knew Bon Temps. That wasn't all sympathy and gathering round in a crisis, no. It was the vultures circling for gossip and an opportunity to judge.

I'd asked him curtly if he’d told everyone our private business and he'd gotten defensive. He'd had to tell them something, he'd said. I'd been frustrated and snippy when he fussed over me. He'd called me selfish, said I wasn't the only one hurting, that I was being stubborn not accepting help. We’d yelled up storm over nothing.

Things had been fraught for a few days. He'd pressed me to talk, to open up to him, but I'd been a tangled mess of anguish and guilt and resentment. I'd shut him out, nursed my sorrow alone. Finally we'd exchanged awkward apologies and settled into a truce of sorts.

I’d reacted irrationally, I could see that now. That second loss had shaken me to my core.

I sighed. What did it say about our relationship that I couldn't find it in me to share how scared I was that it was my fault, that I was somehow damaged goods?

…

It had been awful going back to work a week later.

Most people had been genuinely sympathetic, and it gave me comfort picking up how many women had been through something similar. Even though I’d hated the constant condolences that made me embarrassingly emotional, they’d been easier to bear than a few spiteful customers with hateful thoughts: it must’ve been deformed, no kid deserved weird parents and our demon spawn was better off never born. One idiot supposed we’d had kinky sex under a full moon and created some mutant wolf cub-baby hybrid that couldn’t survive. I'd taken great pleasure in ‘accidentally’ dropping a whole pitcher of beer over his ignorant ass.

The first day I'd kept my mask on and held my head high, but by closing I’d been ready to kill someone or curl up in a ball. Unfortunately I'd hidden it so well that Sam felt it had done me good to get back to work and I'd be back to myself in no time. He hadn't noticed anything wrong. I'd slipped out of bed after he was asleep to cry quietly, alone on the porch. I did the same the next night, and every night for the rest of that week.

Eventually, I'd snapped out of it. I'd found myself over in Clarice in a fancy waiting room with upmarket magazines, a water cooler and great air-con. I'd wondered briefly how much this fertility doctor charged, thankful that I’d saved a good portion of my fairy inheritance.

I'd gone without telling Sam. I knew that wasn't right, but I couldn't bear to find out I was defective in front of him. So I'd gone alone. It was just the first visit, I’d reasoned. I’d planned on telling him soon as I had some answers.

I'd been nervous, my hands sweating even though the doctor was lovely. She'd been very understanding, passing me tissues and letting me take my time with my woeful tale.

I'd gotten even more nervous when she'd frowned over the blood tests. Apprehensive, she’d mentioned unusual markers in my blood, spouting technical jargon I couldn't follow. The she’d searched for a tactful way to word something. I'd willed her to spit it out, keeping resolutely out of her head. Hearing the words would be bad enough.

She'd asked delicately if there was anything odd, _unusual_ in my family history. I’d stopped resisting and dived right in. She was picturing wolves.

Shit. Those markers in my blood had pointy ears for sure, but not fur coats and tails.

Since the Reveal doctors had begun studying the two-natured, but their knowledge was incomplete. She'd jumped to the wrong conclusion because she knew _twoeys had a high miscarriage rate_.

I’d been stunned silent by that last thought.

She’d paused too, worried that either I’d be upset to discover an unknown twoey in the woodpile, or, if my family had been one of those who refused to register under the new laws, I’d be none too pleased to be outed.

I'd stammered out a vague response about speaking to family, snatched up my records and high-tailed it out of there before she could react.

I'd sat in my car kicking myself for not realising the shifter thing might be a problem. I'd felt physically ill when I'd suddenly put together why Sam had felt so guilty both times I'd ended up in the hospital. It wasn't because I was so distraught; he'd assumed his nature was to blame.

We’d had a real nasty fight that night.

He'd been furious: I'd no right to go traipsing off to a doctor without him. I'd yelled right back at him for keeping things from me. It got real ugly. He'd been so angry he'd taken off to his trailer.

I sighed. I could admit now that we'd both been wrong. Back then I'd felt betrayed, exasperated that he’d let me beat myself up for months when it was likely some damn shifter issue.

The next day we'd both calmed down enough to talk properly. He'd admitted he'd been worried, but usually couples had fewer problems when only one partner was a full twoey. I'd reminded him of Crystal and Jason; he'd just grimaced and said Hotshot folks were a whole other ballgame, but that there was a big gap between him and Mindy for a reason. I'd been relieved to hear Bernie had miscarried a few times in that interval, thinking I could count on my mother-in-law’s sympathy, and then immediately felt like an awful person.

Sam had gone on to explain that generally shifter-human pairings might take a little longer to fall pregnant but they didn't have as many problems 'cooking the bun in the oven' as it were, especially if the woman was human. He hadn’t anticipated we'd have problems with that part (and he was very careful to say 'we'). He’d been real sorry he hadn't appreciated how upset I was, but he’d been thick-skinned about it because it was so common for shifters.

I'd accepted his apology, but snatches of his snarly thoughts gave away what he wasn't saying. He’d been afraid I’d want to quit trying. He’d desperately wanted children with me and would have said anything to encourage me. He’d had suspicions about why I’d miscarried, but as he wouldn't voice those, and I’d been too chicken to pry, I could only guess at them.

I’d dreaded that he suspected something neither of us had acknowledged: I wasn't completely human.

The fairies had fertility problems a plenty and I had no idea how that would play out for me with my mixed heritage. I’d wondered then if my Aunt Linda had had problems and that’s why she’d only had Hadley.

…

A few days later, after we'd both licked our wounds and he'd had a good run for the full moon, I had told him in no uncertain terms that we needed to see Dr Ludwig. He'd been reluctant at first, she was expensive, but I'd snapped and said it was worth any price to me and I'd go alone if necessary, adding pointedly that I had money of my own.

That little fact had always bugged him and I’d deliberately poked the bear.

He'd been a hair's breadth from saying I was his wife and he forbade me to go without him, but he'd caught the absolute fury rising in my eyes. He'd managed to stop himself actually saying the words, but not his anger which had spilled out as an ear-splitting growl. I'd been so furious that he'd growled at me, I'd hauled off and slapped him without hesitation. He'd barely contained a shift; his eyes had glowed a strange green in the darkening kitchen, and his movements were not entirely human as he'd stalked out of the house.

The next morning he'd brought me breakfast in bed. He'd given me a shamefaced apology for losing control, and agreed to see Dr Ludwig. He’d blocked me, shut me out, but I could still feel his fear. Whether he was afraid of what we'd find out, or afraid that he'd crossed some line with me that I couldn't forgive, I couldn't tell.

Dr Ludwig had asked a few gruff questions. She'd taken blood from both of us, sniffed it, tasted it (yuck) and then mixed it together, adding several other weird liquids. She'd announced that we seemed compatible in terms of conception, adding that that was normal, we were joined. I'd frowned at her odd term for marriage, thinking 'joined' was very old fashioned. I wondered exactly how old the little doctor was. Not that I was going to ask her.

Then she'd demanded I undress, ushering Sam outside to wait while she examined me as 'shifters are so damn territorial'. She'd been none too gentle with her prodding and poking, but I'd expected that. Everything was physically okay she'd said, no reason I shouldn't carry to term.

Then she'd gestured oddly at the door. For privacy, she'd muttered. She'd looked uncharacteristic sympathetic then, which had scared me more than anything else.

Her questions were completely unexpected: How often did we argue? Had it been physical?

I'd been completely taken aback. Was she asking if Sam was abusive? Was that why she'd wanted privacy? I’d stumbled over my words in a rush to convince her she was wrong.

She'd waved me quiet and bluntly asked again. I'd reluctantly admitted we _had_ been fighting. When she pushed on how far it had gotten, I’d blushed three shades of red and admitted slapping Sam, but that he hadn't raised a hand to me even on the verge of shifting. She'd nodded to herself as if I'd confirmed something.

She’d gone on to explain pregnancy hormones could make both shifters and fairies volatile, but she couldn’t say for sure why I'd rejected the pregnancies.

My heart had stuttered.

_I'd rejected the pregnancies_. Me, my fault.

She'd gone on to say something about fae pregnancy, skin contact and staying calm, but all I could take in was the nausea in my gut and the pounding in my ears. Overwhelmed by irrational guilt, an awful certainty that I didn't deserve to be happy, that this was some sick twisted karma for things I'd done, my past … I'd drowned in those feelings for who knows how many minutes.

I'd come out of it enough to realise this was my chance to ask the least crazy question I'd been torturing myself with since that first dreadful dash to Clarice. I'd been so distressed that I'd grabbed her arm hard and asked forcefully, “Is it the vampire blood? I had such a lot of it.”

Her dark eyes had flared with a strange combination of amusement and pity. She'd shaken her head, whispering, “Not the blood. _That_ hasn’t lingered.” She’d gestured for me to get up, muttering, “Your fae blood on the other hand…”

My stomach had plummeted at that, just as she'd called Sam in through the closed door.

Sam had held my clammy hand as she'd announced she had no explanation, and she'd have to ask around for advice now the portals were closed as we were such a _unique_ couple. She’d seemed to expect me to understand something by that, but I’d had no clue what she meant. I’d been a mite busy holding myself together.

She'd advised putting it out of our heads totally and relaxing for a few months. When we were ready to try again I should eat healthy fresh food and avoid stimulants like coffee, tea and coke. Avoid stress, foster a loving relationship, and no arguments, she'd said, glaring at Sam.

We'd agreed obediently.

Sam had been very quiet on the way home, quiet mentally too, his mind shut up tighter than a drum. I'd been grateful for the quiet, focused on concealing my distress during the drive. He'd dropped me at the house and gone off to the bar. Alone, I’d begun to process what I’d learnt.

A maelstrom of emotions had swept over me: furious rage at the unfairness, sullen resentment at Gran for my stupid fairy genes, hot shame for keeping that those treacherous genes might be to blame from Sam, hope beyond reason that Ludwig was wrong and things would work out, and dread that some divine force had deemed me unworthy to be blessed with this one crucial ingredient for a perfect life.

Eventually I’d settled on grim resolve to put it all out of my mind, be extra attentive at church and be the best Christian I could. I’d damn well make myself worthy despite those fairy genes.

…

The early summer had been cool this year, matching the brittle peace Sam and I had forged following our visit to Dr Ludwig. We hadn’t really discussed it. Both of us had pussyfooted around each other, afraid to bring up the difficult and painful subject.

I’d had no-one else to talk it over with either, partly out of loyalty to Sam, partly from a dearth of candidates. Tara was definitely out; she wouldn’t understand the supe stuff. Amelia had mentioned trying for another child herself last time we'd spoken, and it wasn't the sort of thing for a phone call anyway. Michele, who I could usually count on for sensible advice, was wrapped up in my nephew and I knew Jason was starting to think about having another. Kennedy was out, because she worked with both of us. I couldn't possibly put her in that position.

So I’d had no-one to confide in. I'd taken flowers to Gran’s grave a few times and sat beside her thinking things through.

Slowly things had relaxed, and the cheerful façade we'd put on for everyone became more real. Of course something had come along and thrown a monkey-, or rather a large tiger-shaped wrench in the works.

One hot June day, I'd been out in the garden weeding in the sun when a truck I hadn't seen for over two years pulled up behind the house. I'd been delighted to see Quinn, giving him an enthusiastic hug in greeting. We'd caught up some while I'd washed the garden off my hands at the hose, and he'd helped me fold up the sheets that had dried in the sun. He'd been a gentleman, carrying the basket of laundry to our room, and then he'd leant up against the dresser chatting while I put things away.

I'd insisted he stay for lunch, and we were halfway through our meal when Sam pulled up. I'd been surprised to see him but he did sometimes pop home from the bar at odd times. He'd been incensed when he came into the kitchen, his mind totally closed to me.

Quinn had leant back in his chair, completely relaxed, and greeted Sam with an offhand ‘Shifter’. I'd looked between them a couple of times taking in Sam's clenched fists and Quinn's nonchalant air of understated menace, and I'd wondered what the crispy fries was going on in my kitchen.

Sam had growled menacingly at Quinn, who'd chuckled. He'd turned to me and said mildly, “Another time, babe.” He'd kissed me on the cheek, raising another growl from Sam, and with a swagger he'd walked as close as he could to my husband and out the door.

Sam had glared after him until his truck was out of sight. Then he'd pulled me from my chair and sniffed me. Abruptly he'd disappeared into the back of the house. He'd returned a minute later, looking feral, and asked with barely contained venom, ‘What the fuck was that asshole doing in our room?’

I'd stood there mouth flapping, staring at him in absolute amazement. He'd never reacted like that to anyone being in the house, not even Calvin.

When he'd grabbed me and asked again, punctuating his question by shaking me, I'd lost it. I'd shouted that he didn't fucking own me and I'd have any damn friend I damn well pleased in my own house. And if he didn't trust me to keep my vows, not to let the door hit his ass on the way out.

Being yelled at seemed to snap him out of whatever crazy shifter shit he had going on. He'd crashed his lips over mine and squeezed me damn near painfully to him, muttering I was his wife and I couldn’t kick him out. I'd struggled against him until he'd finally let me go.

I'd left him there and stomped out to the cemetery, my head spinning. I'd had a good cry at Gran's grave, wondering if she'd ever fought with Mitchell that badly.

When I came back to the house, Sam had gone. He’d left the sheets Quinn had helped fold re-washing in the machine, and the bedroom had smelt strongly of cleaning products. Yeah, I'd got the message: no other guy’s scent in our room. Damn shifter sense of smell. Dr Ludwig hadn't been wrong with that territorial comment.

The next morning all Sam had said was that he was sorry, but he was a shifter and that damn asshole knew he was crossing a line. I'd told him sharply that ‘damn asshole’ was a friend, one who'd stood up and helped Sam’s family when they needed it, and I didn't take too kindly to the way Sam had treated me either. He'd muttered something under his breath and taken himself off to work.

The whole thing had made me feel uneasy, as if I really didn't know my own husband. Later that day I'd phoned Luna over in Dallas, my go-to source for shifter crap. She'd explained that shifter guys were very territorial, especially about their 'dens', where they slept, and judging by Sam's reaction I'd probably been in heat too, which had made it worse.

Yes, she actually called it that. In heat.

I'd been amazed that twoeys could detect that. That titbit from Luna had explained a couple of odd things I'd read from Sam in the bedroom, nights when he'd been mechanical about it, but determined. He’d known when I was receptive.

With the problems we'd been having, and the fact that Quinn had been here alone with me at that ‘special’ time, I’d grasped why Sam might overreact, even if I didn’t like the way he’d behaved. I knew he couldn’t help his nature, but I hated that possessive crap.

I thought about that fight. And the many others we'd had, before and since.

There was a definite pattern. We kept things from each other. Sam held back about his nature. I hid things too. When we fought Sam tried to shut me out of his head, and got mad if I heard him. I resented that. We were increasingly quick-tempered with each other, and sometimes I deliberately provoked him. Why? It was almost like I wanted a physical fight with him. That was stupid. He was a shifter, much stronger than me. I didn't want to get hurt, least of all by Sam. It didn't make sense.

I sighed. That fight over Quinn had set a pattern for this summer. We'd swung between uneasy peace and spectacular arguments over stupid things.

The argument that most upset me wasn’t even between us.

…

Independence Day found us in Wright, down by the river.

We'd arrived the day before and it hadn't been pleasant. They all knew why I'd been in hospital that Easter. I couldn’t escape the pity in their eyes and thoughts any more than I could escape all those bunnies and eggs symbolising new life at the time.

Of course, they'd had a prayer circle. Mindy and Craig had prayed for us to ‘find strength in adversity, welcome in God's love and be blessed with new life'. I'd never been so uncomfortable. I'd mumbled my own prayer self-consciously. And don't think I didn't notice that Bernie didn’t pray for our difficulty when she took a turn, or that I didn’t hear her think that perhaps we’d have more luck if I lost some weight before we tried again. Bitch.

Knowing Bernie wasn’t rooting for me had meant I wasn't totally blindsided the following evening.

We’d all gone to the river at dusk for the fireworks. Walking back after a trip to the restroom, I'd sensed two familiar shifter minds off to one side in the trees ahead.

Bernie and Sam had been discussing me furiously. They'd been oblivious to my presence and I'd stopped, frozen in the shadows, close enough to eavesdrop. With ears and telepathy.

Sam had overheard me asking Ludwig about vampire blood – I realised with a jolt that I’d been too agitated to notice her removing the privacy thingy – but he hadn’t heard her quiet reply through the closed door even with his enhanced hearing. So, without speaking to me, he'd jumped to conclusions and gone looking for answers on his own.

He'd tried that special shifters-only library of his. Unsurprisingly he’d come up empty because, as Ludwig had said, vampire blood had nothing to do with it.

Then he'd decided to ask questions on that damn twoey message board. Just great. He’d flaunted my private business to the whole twoey community again.

I'd suddenly gone hot and cold. I'd bet the farm that Quinn turning up was no coincidence.

Putting that momentary distraction aside, I'd tuned back in to dumb and mother-of-dumb.

Evidently Bernie had got wind of what Sam had put on the site. She’d ranted that if she'd known that the fucked-up shit I'd been into before we'd got together would make me barren (I sucked in a sharp breathe at that word), she'd have stopped the wedding and he wouldn't be in this mess.

I'd finally understood that mysterious comment on our wedding night because she was thinking about it.

Some drunken Hotshot panther had mouthed off to her in the Merlotte's bathroom and she'd pieced together exactly how involved I'd been with the vampires, bonded and pledged to one no less. She'd thought me a fool to get in so deep, that I'd deliberately downplayed it to her, and that somehow I'd used Sam to get away from the vamps.

Sam had fired back that he'd find a solution, we’d have kids, but his feelings weren't so confident.

She'd shot back that saving his life three years ago didn't give me the right to drag him onto my shit or to make him responsible for me.

_Or to stop you from marrying that nice shifter girl I had all lined up,_ I'd heard from her clearly, along with an image of beautiful shifter grandbabies.

I'd stifled a gasp and blinked back tears.

Sam had answered angrily that he loved me, and I loved him, and she should butt the fuck out.

She'd spat after him that she was just looking out for him, shaking with rage as he stalked away towards the river.

She was so angry that I’d got another blast of her fiercely protective thoughts: I'd got some sort of hold over her son because I was part-fairy. (In Bernie's mind fairies were all fickle, treacherous and dangerous creatures, to be avoided.) Contradicting herself, I was simultaneously too human. Sam’s marriage to me was a mistake just like her second marriage, doomed because humans could never understand shifters. Sam deserved better.

With a swell of anger and hate, she’d sneered mentally that he was too good for a lowly waitress, a forgotten offshoot of some fleeting fairy flirtation. And my brother, a bitten twoey from that repulsive inbred pack of panthers.

I’d felt dizzy with disgust. How could she be so hateful after all she'd gone through at the hands of her neighbours?

I'd slumped against a tree once she left, too shell-shocked to cry. I'd stayed there, bitterly wishing I could forget Bernie’s awful inner dialogue. I’d heard Gran’s wise voice: _No-one ever heard a kind word listening at doors._ Using my telepath on Bernie had sure been as pleasant as skinny dipping in sewage.

When the muffled crumps of fireworks started, I’d headed back to the family in a daze. Only Sam had noticed how subdued I was. He'd bought my lie that I'd eaten something off, and I’d been relieved to leave early the next morning.

I'd been wrapped in my thoughts on the drive home. I'd debated telling Sam our problems weren't anything to do with vampire blood, but I was so angry at him for not coming to me first, for discussing my business online without asking me.

I didn't want to get into how I'd overheard them either.

I knew sure as eggs are eggs I didn't want get between him and Bernie. That had catastrophe written all over it.

That phrase _'I'd rejected the pregnancy’_ had rang in my head repeatedly as we travelled east. I'd cringed at the thought of Bernie discovering that my drop of fairy blood was responsible for all our heartache, knowing she would definitely blame me. Maybe even try to separate us.

Would Sam come to resent me? He was desperate for children. Would he leave me if I couldn't give him that? I'd hardly been able to glance at him once that had occurred to me.

Tormented by misgivings, I'd resolved to say nothing. Determined to succeed with the next pregnancy, I’d convinced myself that none of it mattered, Sam need never know.

With hindsight, that had been incredible unfair. Once again I hadn’t trusted him.

As soon as we’d got home, I’d thrown out the coffee and the condoms and we’d ploughed right ahead. I'd been pregnant again by Labour Day, thrilled that it had happened so quickly, taking it as a good omen.

Of course, being pregnant hadn't fixed anything. We’d still argued.

But I'd taken Ludwig’s advice to heart and I'd done my damnedest not to provoke him, to keep calm. I'd begun walking away when I got riled, often venting at Gran’s grave for a spell. I'd been sure it was working, that it would be okay this time.

Then eighteen days ago I'd woken to bloody sheets for the third time.

Another miscarriage, another crazy fight. Back to square one.

Actually no, it was worse than that. Alone for Thanksgiving week while Sam had high-tailed it home to Texas, I'd hit rock bottom.

Well, the only way was up. I wiped away tears and looked over my messy list:

…

  * _Foundation \-- > friendship_
  * _Not comfortable with Sam here –?_
  * _Engagement – feelings?? Before I love u._
  * _Sam = safe_
  * _Bernie. ‘Be good to him.’ Protective._
  * _Wedding – fun decorating. Sam & Bernie argued._
  * _Bernie wants grandbabies Shifter ones._
  * _Quirk made us closer. Now makes fights worse._
  * _Children: no plan._
  * _Not talking – shifter stuff, fae stuff, feelings._
  * _Me – saw doctor alone._
  * _Sam – territorial, Quinn._

…

I frowned and slowly linked three things. Sam was territorial, we'd redecorated before the wedding, and we'd used his trailer before then.

Huh, I guess one piece of the puzzle just got real clear. He'd wanted my room stripped out and redecorated so it wouldn't smell of anyone else. Guess that's why he wouldn't stay over before… Wait, that wasn't right. It was me that couldn’t relax here at first, hadn't wanted him in my…

Oh no. No, no, no. I was not going there. No way. I did so not care about the history in that room. Bill or Quinn or anyone else. No way.

That wasn't the point of all this anyway. I was supposed to be rescuing my marriage.

I threw down the notepad. The sun was starting to set, but I still wasn’t hungry. I rubbed my face wearily, knowing I was missing something.

Maybe a bath would help me mull things over.

It did. By the time I was clean, moisturised and buffed, the roots of our problems were clearer. I felt sure if we worked on our relationship and got it ticking along like clockwork again, everything else would fall into place.

Firstly, Bernie was clearly pressuring Sam to have kids, and she didn't approve of me. Sam loved his mom and she was beginning to make him doubt we'd ever have kids and think less of me because of my past. She'd probably hinted about a shifter match, but I had no proof she'd interfered beyond that. Yet.

Sam had stuck with me time and again, and that was all his choice. Bernie could take a hike and stay out of it, he was a grown man. But Bernie was a problem that only Sam could tackle. He needed to lay down the law, tell her if it came down to it he’d choose me over her. I had a flash of certain troublemaking tiger, and pushed it away.

Sam was different. He would choose me. We were different: we were married.

Secondly, it was no wonder we'd been fighting. We’d been under tremendous strain, grieving our losses. There was a lot of hurt and guilt on both sides. But I couldn’t ignore that we had major communication issues too. Neither of us trusted the other with everything.

The increasingly physical nature of our fights was a real concern. That had to be resolved before we could even think about bringing a child into the picture. I wondered if Sam would go to couples therapy. Heck, could therapy deal with his shifter issues?

Thirdly, the big one, we'd rushed in to the decision to have children. We needed to step back and take stock of what else we wanted out of life. I thought wistfully of those college brochures I'd looked at three years ago. Then I brightened; plenty of women with kids managed college. We just needed to hash out how children would fit in with our plans.

I wrote out my three-point plan on a fresh sheet of note paper, then paced the kitchen excitedly, burning with nervous energy. It would work. It had to.

Slowly the doubts crept in. Would it work? I replayed some of our worst fights in my mind. Things had gotten ugly. This was not an easy fix. Shit, it might not be fixable at all.

I needed to bounce this off of someone.

All my friends were involved with both of us. I couldn't put them in the middle of this. Plus I found it hard to talk to Tara, or Michele, or Amelia about the miscarriages. Try as I might, I couldn't help but resent how easy it had been for them.

I didn't need sympathy, or pity: I needed brutal honesty.

That's why I found myself dressed in my smartest jeans, a warm sweater and my winter coat, driving along the interstate an hour later.

I was heading to see Pam.

…

I'd texted her as I left, but she hadn't replied. I hoped I could find her house.

The last time we'd met, at the Monroe mall three months ago, she'd given me her new address. We'd had a pleasant chat, and she'd suggested we could meet at hers if I wanted as I was still banned from Fangtasia. Any time, she’d said.

I'd only gotten back in touch with her this past year. We'd spoken for a few months after, well, after it all happened, but that had petered out. I'd called her on a whim this past New Year, full of seasonal good will and inspired to catch up with her. She'd been cautiously friendly over the phone. We'd met up maybe four times since, always at the Monroe mall. We didn’t discuss anything serious, kept it light.

I hadn't told Sam about it, picking days when I knew he would be out until late so I could get home and shower her scent away. I grimaced at myself in the rear-view mirror. Yes, more secrets from my husband. Bad Sookie.

I found the house alright. It was unlit, and I still hadn't had a reply to my text. I looked up and down the quiet street, a little nervous as I realised I was out alone in Shreveport at night. I chuckled to myself as I walked up to her door; I'd become a real homebody if this was making me nervous. Hey, it was fine; my spidey-sense told me the street was empty.

I giggled again. Clearly the day had finally got to me.

I knocked. I waited. Knocked again.

Just as I was about to give up, the light flicked on suddenly, blinding me as the door opened. I squinted, my eyes scrunched against the glare.

The figure silhouetted against the light was tall. Tall and masculine. I had a sudden sinking feeling it was one I would recognise anywhere.

“Hello Sookie”, said a voice I knew real well.

“I, uh, I … Eric,” I spluttered as all my mental gears seized. This unexpected event could fubar (a military term I’d picked up from Craig) my entire plan for the evening, and my brain was stuck in park.

I tried again. “I, uh … Pam?” I wanted to slap myself as I stumbled over the words. He was leant nonchalantly against the open door, and even though his face was in shadow I just knew he was smirking. Smug bastard.

I was so flustered that it took a minute to process that we were right here, right now, and together. Alone together. I checked quickly. Yep, confirmed by telepathy: alone, like we weren't allowed to be, ever, on pain of death.

I really didn't miss this bullcrap.

“We're not supposed to be alone,” I said as I took a step back, holding a hand up in front of me as if that would stop him.

He cocked his head to one side. ”Pam hasn't been in touch?”

“Um, not recently. Haven't spoken to her since August.”

“Ah.” He paused briefly, and then pressed on. “Freyda met the true death over a week ago.”

Shit.

What could I say?

Is there an appropriate comment to make upon hearing the power-hungry queen that your ex left you for is dead, when said ex has probably been as happy as a pig in mud married to said queen for the last three years, and he's standing right in front of you not giving you any clue how to react?

I shook myself out of my mental babbling and went with a mumbled: “Sorry to hear that.”

He didn’t reply.

“Well, I really popped by to see Pam, so if she's not here I'll just...” I trailed off.

Alarms were ringing.

Freyda was dead...

I gasped and then panicked. “Eric, the contract! Am I still safe? I'm not, am I? Is Felipe gonna turn up looking for me? What should –”

He interrupted me. “You are still protected.”

“I am?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. A phone began ringing somewhere in the house behind him.

“That's Pam. I should get that.” He didn’t move and the ringing stopped. A muffled version of Material Girl rang out from the vicinity of Eric's sweat pants.

He turned away, pulling out his phone awkwardly. I noticed he was wearing gloves. Huh, perhaps he’d been handling silver. I didn’t want to think why that might be.

I heard my name in amongst the Old Norse or whatever it was they used for secret squirrel stuff.

He snapped the phone shut. “Pam will be here shortly. Would you like to wait inside, or in your car?”

“Um,” I delayed.

Inside with Eric – super awkward. Outside on a dark street, alone in my car – cold and not much fun.

Eric moved slightly, and now my eyes had adjusted I caught it as his gaze flicked to something over my shoulder. I didn't look round. I knew nobody was there, but Eric was on edge.

Eric on edge meant bad things. I made a snap decision and hoped I wouldn't regret it.

“Inside,” I replied, and he gestured for me to walk past him into the lion’s den.





	3. On the Couch

I willed myself to lay still.

Not easy on Pam’s couch. It was too short for me, but I didn’t think she’d chosen it with me in mind. No, chintz was definitely not my taste, but the art deco lamp she’d left on was stylish.

I fidgeted again. I hated this. I tried to calm myself enough to rest, make the most of the next few hours. The dim lighting made it easier to slip into downtime, but it still took longer than it should.

A car pulling up outside snapped me back to full awareness.

Fortunately I'd insisted on being presentable tonight. If trouble came knocking, at least I was 'dressed' for it

I moved to the hallway and levitated soundlessly down the dark corridor as the sound of approaching footsteps came from the driveway outside. I silently retrieved the silver dagger hidden in one of Pam’s coats that hung on the rack by the front door.

I listened. Footsteps _and_ a heartbeat. I relaxed fractionally, moving to one side of the door in case my caller was armed.

The unexpected visitor chuckled. That was odd. I frowned, and then the chuckle was repeated, and I recognised the sound, one I hadn’t heard for over three years.

Of course. Who else would giggle outside Pam’s front door? And she would turn up tonight.

The first knock actually startled me as I was furiously debating my options: open the door or ignore her.

She would give up and leave if I didn't answer. Most of the lights were off, Pam’s car was gone, and unless Pam had told her I was here, she would assume the house was empty. Pam would certainly have warned me to expect her if she had known she was coming. Surprise visitors were hardly welcome in the current situation.

Ignoring her was the sensible option. Definitely. I itched to open the door anyway.

After she knocked a second time, I gave up pretending I was ever going to wait for her to leave and slipped the dagger back into its hiding place.

I needed to be in control for this. I steadied myself for a second against the wall, centring myself as I devised a strategy to minimise the risk.

Simultaneously flicking the light switch and throwing the door wide, I leant against it and purposefully kept my face in shadow. I scanned the street discretely for my guard as I greeted my unexpected guest, maintaining as calm a façade as I could.

She was surprised to see me.

I was surprised she hadn’t heard about Freyda.

I focused my curiosity on why she was here, why Pam hadn’t kept her up to date, and not on why her first reaction to me was to step back, or on the flash of gold I saw on her left hand when she raised it in warning.

Her second reaction was to worry about her safety. That was an improvement at least, even if I winced internally at her mention of the damn contract.

I knew Pam would phone. I could feel she was already on the way back. She was jumpy, with good reason.

While Sookie considered my invitation, I glanced across the street at the figure in the shadows. I waved Sookie in and as she passed me I scented the shifter strongly. No need to wonder whose ring it was then.

When she hesitated in the hall, I nodded towards the door on the left and told her I would be there shortly. As soon as she’d disappeared into the room, Thalia appeared silently in front of me with an accusatory look. We spoke quickly and quietly in Greek.

“ _No visitors._ ” She was repeating Pam’s instructions.

I ignored that, and gestured at her neck, asking, “ _It’s activated_?”

She nodded.

“ _Wait in the laundry room. I’ll call if I need you._ ” When she looked like she might protest I added firmly, “ _Now._ ”

She disappeared silently into the house and took the door to the right as I locked the front door.

I paused in the doorway. Conveniently Sookie had taken the chair furthest away, her coat tucked neatly over the arm next to her, her purse balanced on top of it.

The living room and kitchen were open plan. I flicked a switch besides me, lighting the kitchen area, and levitated quickly over to the breakfast bar where I would be backlit and one of the couches in the living area would obscure her view of me. I lowered gently to the ground, and took up a relaxed pose leaning back against the counter. I wanted her to assume I was giving her sufficient space to feel comfortable.

I watched her look around the room, her hands twitching nervously in her lap. She was obviously ill at ease and searching for something to say. The silence lengthened.

Eventually she met my gaze and then looked away quickly. She stared at the couch in front of me for a second, and then smiled faintly.

“Pam’s taste always surprises me,” she said, gesturing at the couch. Then she flicked her eyes back to me briefly, and cocked her head at the offending item of furniture speculatively. “I bet you barely fit on there.”

I smiled before I could stop myself. She never failed to amuse, even in the direst situation.

“No, they’re not exactly built for a man of my height,” I replied.

Once I might have made a joke about my size and wiggled my eyebrows to make her blush and laugh, but not tonight. I had no idea how she would take it, and I wasn’t exactly in a joking frame of mind. I was content just to look at her.

There was another short silence.

She seemed a little pale. There were bags under her eyes. Before I could speculate about why that was, her gaze drifted towards the collection of items on the end table, by the couch I’d lain on earlier.

Shit. I’d forgotten about that when I invited her in. I needed to distract her before her intuition kicked in.

“You haven’t been to this house before.” I knew she hadn’t; her scent was absent. She looked up at my sudden statement though. Good.

“Oh, no. I, um… I haven’t. I usually meet Pam somewhere else.” She looked faintly embarrassed.

Before I had chance to contemplate what that could be about, I heard Pam’s car in the distance. She was driving like a bat out of hell. An appropriate term for a vampire, I thought wryly.

Sookie frowned as I turned towards the door expectantly, but seconds later even she could hear the squeal of tires outside.

Pam's car door slammed loudly. There was a pause before I heard her key in the lock. Thalia had probably intercepted her outside to report. Then Pam was calling out cheerfully, “Honey, I’m home,” as she came in. She dropped her car keys in the bowl on the kitchen counter next to me.

Thalia appeared behind her in the doorway scowling. I looked at her sharply and demanded quietly in Greek, “ _Is it off_?” She nodded subtly.

Pam took charge at once, grasping the urgency of the situation as I knew she would. “Sookie, what a pleasant surprise. You wanted to see me?”

Sookie was strangely cagey. “Um, yeah. I texted you earlier? You said any time.”

“Fuck a zombie. Bloody technology.” Pam pulled out her phone and her fingers flew across the buttons. A phone rang out briefly from Sookie’s purse.

“New phone,” Pam said by way of explanation. “I lost the last one. I’ve just texted you my new number.”

By lost, Pam meant it had been a casualty of battle. Somewhere in the fog of the last week, she’d complained at having to mass text her new number to every vampire in Area 5 and all her contacts. Pam must have Sookie’s number memorised, not stored with the others on her phone. I was pleased she was taking extra care with Sookie’s security, but I wondered why she hadn’t texted her the new number until now.

“Oh, right. You didn't get my message then. Sorry, I didn’t mean to turn up on your doorstep unannounced Pam. Well, this is obviously a bad time and I should just get going. I’m real sorry to interrupt your night Pam. I didn’t mean to drag y’all away from work.” Sookie stood, grabbed her coat and purse, ducked her head and practically ran for the door.

Pam moved to stop her leaving, putting a hand on her arm. “Sookie, if I can’t take time off when a friend drives over to see me there’s no point in being the boss. It’s a lovely night tonight. I feel like a run. Why don’t I ride home with you, and we can catch up in the car.”

A look of gratitude passed over Sookie’s face. “That would be real nice Pam. I would sure appreciate catching up with you.” She was evidently desperate for Pam’s advice about something. Something she didn't want to mention in front of me or Thalia. I wondered if she was in trouble, if whatever it was would put Pam in danger.

I had absolutely no idea what might be going on locally. My mind began to compile an increasingly ridiculous list of creatures that could conceivably be causing her trouble, until I realised she had just glanced between me and Thalia suspiciously.

I pulled my focus back to the conversation as she turned back to Pam and said, “Only if you’re sure you’re not busy. You're not knee-deep in some crisis are you?”

“No, nothing major. I just need a quick word with Eric first. Sookie, why don’t you wait in the car? I will be out in a five minutes.” Pam turned to Thalia, and said drily, “Thalia, _be a doll_ and see Sookie out to her car for me would you?” Ouch. Pam was pissed.

Thalia grunted and escorted Sookie out.

As soon as the front door closed, Pam was at my side as I slumped against the counter.

…

Pam settled me back on the ill-fitting couch, muttering about macho stupidity. She put my phone on the end table for me. She fiddled with the things there, making sure the carafe of blood was still warm and the odd blue glass bottle enamelled with delicate gold scrollwork was in easy reach. She looked over at the kitchen clock.

“I'll be back in a few hours. Promise me you'll ask Thalia for help if you need it.”

“I'll be fine.”

“Eric, you are far from fine. You shouldn't have let her in.”

“I will be back to normal soon enough.” I made an effort to sound confident to reassure her. And yes, I was avoiding her second point.

“I'm sorry she disturbed you. I had no idea she'd turn up here tonight. We haven't exactly been in close contact since you left.” She frowned down at the table rather than meeting my eyes.

I reached out and touched her arm gently. “I'm sorry for my part in that. You needed company after Miriam.”

She looked straight at me. Her face softened and she knelt next to me, pressing a kiss to my forehead. I closed my eyes as she did, feeling something slip back into place between us. I'd missed her a great deal, and she'd been very angry at everything when we'd parted.

“Thank you. I missed you too. You had no choice but to go,” she said softly, smoothing my hair off my face.

She got up to leave, and she was half way to the door when I called her name quietly. She stopped but didn't turn.

“Is she happy?”

She gave me a pained look over her shoulder. “I don't know. I've kept her alive Eric, that's all I could do.”

…

Thalia appeared shortly after Pam left. She was pissed.

“Your child is insolent,” she snapped.

“And yet you stay in her area.”

She grunted. She knew she had few other places to go.

“The telepath attracts trouble like a battle torn corpse attracts crows.” That was unusually poetic and grim, even for Thalia.

“I've always been at ease on a battlefield,” I replied evenly.

Without warning she moved at full speed to pin my chest with her knees and wrap her hands around my neck. She hissed out, “You are not fit for a battle this night Norse man.”

The instant she was on me I froze. She was unpredictable and sudden movement would only provoke her further. She could already taste blood in the water; I was at her mercy and we both knew it. I waited a few beats while she hissed and bared her fangs, and then I slowly raised an eyebrow at her letting no trace of fear, only amusement, show in my eyes.

For a few painful seconds her eyes glittered and her nails pressed my neck. She seemed to give serious thought to tearing my head from my body. Then she hissed again as she used her knees to push off me, and I grunted at the sudden pressure on my chest.

She sat on the other couch and regarded me thoughtfully.

“She is a child. Demanding as young ones are. You are old. You should choose wisely. Choose another. Choose less trouble for yourself.”

I stared her down. She shrugged at me and said, “I will be outside. Protecting your foolish ass from the crows.”

Her cackle lingered after she left and I whispered to the empty room in Norse, “ _It's not a choice. It's never been a choice_.”

I held out for five minutes.

Grunting as I levered myself off the couch, I levitated over to the armchair chair and lowered gently to my knees in front of it. I glanced over my shoulder to check I was alone, checked the drapes were still tightly closed. Then I inhaled deeply. I frowned, leaned towards the overstuffed cushion and inhaled again. The smell of shifter was faint. It had been a lot stronger on her coat.

I barely wasted half a second thinking why that might be, and proceeded to bury my face in the cushion, breathing so deeply I almost felt dizzy. Her scent. Fuck, I'd missed it.

I leant back on my haunches, and hissed at the sharp pain. I grabbed the cushion, and took it with me to the couch, replacing the one I’d used for a pillow earlier with it and moving the original to give my leg more support. That was actually almost comfortable when I lay back down. I could feel the pain begin to gnaw at me again, but I pushed it away and held onto the scent and the memories it evoked to keep afloat.

…

I was staring at the ceiling remembering our last fight again, re-treading all the well-worn paths that always led to the same dead-end. The inescapable conclusion that I'd taken the only course of action possible. For her. For myself. It had given us the best chance of a good outcome, the best I could wrangle out of Ocella's bitter legacy.

I could not have foreseen the twists and turns that would bring my time in Oklahoma to such an abrupt and catastrophic end, and I doubted that my maker could either. Ocella meant to save me from disaster and gift me with a solid launch pad for a political power play a century hence. He had no inkling of the precarious position I would be in a mere three years later.

At least Sookie had got more out of it. Her protection appeared to be a continuing benefit at the moment. Felipe had agreed to uphold his end of that bargain despite Freyda's death, as long as I left his territory before a year was up. Although I wouldn’t trust his word until I saw it signed and sealed, written in blood.

What a mess. Three years ago I thought I could salvage something.

Ocella had been careless with the details in the short Maker’s contract, but he had always been confident in my ability to thrive in adversity. And he did so enjoy giving me adversity.

The final contract with Freyda had been ... restrictive to say the least.

The obvious restriction was the position of consort itself. That was twofold.

Firstly, a consort does not automatically inherit the state upon the monarch’s death. As extra security Freyda had included a clause that explicitly forbade me from taking any position at all in Oklahoma for a century after her death, or for five decades after the end of the contract if she lived out the term. That was prudent in her position, ensuring I had no incentive to kill her for her throne.

Secondly, a consort must not upstage the monarch. She’d needed my strength, my knowledge, my reputation to ensure her rule went unchallenged, but it had to be clear she was still the ultimate authority. Publicly I had to stand behind her, never overshadow her.

Once we’d begun negotiating in earnest, it became clear she intended to retain all power in our alliance for real, not just for appearances. No matter how much she’d simpered and smiled, and implied she would be reasonable, I knew she intended to rule me with an iron fist. Freyda had a core of steel underneath her pretty packaging, ambitious and grasping steel.

Much like the contract was a steel cage beneath the gilding.

Maintaining her authority over me was tricky because I was much older, stronger. She’d needed ways to control me. Several clauses were written into the final contract to achieve that.

The most obvious one divested me of allies.

My children, the vampires in my retinue loyal to me, even my day man, all had to be left behind. Her court would be free of anyone that might be loyal to me over her, who might be used to diminish her power base on her own turf. It also encouraged me to switch my loyalty from my former allies to her and her state.

She would control who I met, who I communicated with, to prevent me forging new alliances. I’d be closely watched, and if she travelled out of state I had to be by her side. Further, she’d banned all contact with my children, no doubt fearing they might act from outside the state to overthrow her. With hindsight, she’d also been jealous of my loyalty to them.

Next she took control of my assets.

I’d had to sell my house, my share in Fangtasia and most of my businesses barring a few she allowed me to pass to Pam. Freyda owned all my capital for the duration of the contract, and would return it to me, or what was left of it, at term. I’d been allowed to invest the capital on her behalf, but she would monitor all transactions and held right to veto. She’d certainly made it clear she wouldn’t hesitate to use that with Sookie’s bail money. I shifted restlessly at that memory.

I was not to have my own money except for a small 'allowance' for personal use, too small to buy significant influence amongst vampires. In return, Freyda would provide for me in a manner appropriate to a consort. I would be a kept man.

There’d been provision in the contract for her to release control of my assets back to me after fifty years if she felt me trustworthy by then. That was at her discretion and intended as an incentive for good behaviour. She would probably have held that over me as long as possible.

Lastly, the final lock on the cage had not been written into the contract at all.

It hadn't needed to be, because the threat had been clear once Freyda and Felipe arrived in Shreveport. If I stepped out of line, Sookie would pay. Freyda would hold that over me as long as Sookie lived.

I had tried to minimise Sookie’s importance to me, but there’d been far too many rumours about us for that to work. In the short term, while we were negotiating, I had played more disgruntled with the restrictions on my children than Sookie. I let slip enough hints to suggest I was protecting her out of a commitment made to Niall, rather than anything personal, so Freyda wouldn’t see Sookie’s continuing existence as a threat to my loyalty.

My long term plan had been never to mention her to Freyda once I was in Oklahoma, to chafe visibly at the other restrictions instead, thus persuading Freyda over time that money and power were more important to me. She would find that believable given her own character.

By adding another century to the term – what else did I have to bargain with? – in return for Sookie’s safety and freedom, I had given Freyda an incentive to let her live. I made sure that if Freyda broke that clause, then the marriage itself would be void.

So Freyda had a tightrope to walk: she could threaten Sookie as leverage, but if she hurt her _and_ I could prove it, I walked free. It was a delicate balance; one I’d hoped would keep Sookie alive, the best I could get with a poor hand.

I‘d stacked the deck in Sookie’s favour outside the contract too.

Vampire from other kingdoms posed a risk that I’d needed to address. Another monarch could have her kidnapped. Or, as Felipe would decide the fate of any vampire who broke his protection decree in his territory, he could hire an out-of-state vampire to attack Sookie and then end the assassin to cover up his involvement. That may have been partly why Freyda insisted Sookie would be killed if she entered Oklahoma. Then if Sookie was killed on her turf, she didn’t have to avenge her on Felipe’s behalf. That, and Freyda was insecure enough to believe Sookie posed a threat to her safety and my loyalty.

A message had to be sent, one that made it clear Sookie had powerful protection, that retribution would be swift and deadly if she was harmed anywhere outside of Oklahoma.

Cataliades and I had brainstormed a list of monarchs who were in Sookie’s debt after Rhodes. He’d contacted them and explained the situation. Somehow the demon lawyer had managed to get protection decrees from a half dozen royals. That number for one 'human' was unprecedented.

In a bold move, he’d arranged to file them publicly, with notification sent to every monarch in the country at midnight the night of the official marriage ceremony in Oklahoma. It was risky, might draw attention to Sookie, but we agreed Rhodes had done that anyway.

I would have liked to have seen Freyda’s face when she got that wedding present.

To keep my name out of it, Cataliades completed all the paperwork as if he had been hired to protect Sookie by an unnamed family benefactor. This may well have been partially true as he knew Niall and was probably in contact with him.

Knowing six powerful monarchs would be watching would be enough, with luck, to keep Felipe and Freyda from blatantly hurting her. In turn, Felipe and Freyda knew of her connection to Niall and would suspect it had all been set up by Sookie’s fae kin.

Just in case that wasn't enough to give Sookie a winning hand, and it certainly wasn’t because it only dealt with vampire threats, and only overt ones at that, I had put plans in place of my own and left Pam in charge of those. My child considered Sookie a friend and would do her best to keep her safe and free.

There had been two things in my favour in the contract.

Firstly, one of the few clauses in the Maker’s contract: if Freyda was responsible for my final death then she would forfeit her kingdom unless she could prove I’d committed treason. That one had reeked of Ocella, and Freyda hadn’t been happy about it. He must have insisted on it.

Secondly, a clause I had insisted on: I would be free to choose my own quarters and install any physical security for my day time resting place that I saw fit. Freyda’s sting in the tail there was that it had to be paid for out of my capital or she wouldn’t agree to it.

But, if I was careful, those two things had given me enough physical protection to ensure that my cage wasn’t a death trap. Or so I’d thought.

It would be in my interests to bolster the strength of Freyda’s retinue, to keep her and her kingdom intact so that I was safe. The contract had bound our fates tightly together.

Overall, the one thing in my favour had been, ironically, the thing that had attracted Freyda's unwelcome attention in the first place: my age.

Firstly, that meant she’d been very wary of a blood exchange between us. As well she should be. If we exchanged enough I would gain access to her feelings, yet as the elder I’d be able to block her from mine and influence her somewhat. She would not allow any chance that I’d gain the upper hand that way.

So, unusually, she had required an exchange only once every five years, and she’d actually specified quantities – a thimbleful of mine to a shot glass of hers. In return I’d demanded that she had no rights to my blood beyond that. She could not order me to give blood to another, for which I had been willing to concede much more, not that she’d known that.

Secondly, the fact that I was stronger and faster meant she would be wary of being alone with me. That hadn’t been much of an advantage, but it had pleased me that she could never let her guard down in such situations. She’d seemed confident that she could please me physically and I’d given her no indication otherwise, but if she’d thought to use the bedroom to control me she would be much mistaken.

My thoughts drifted to my maker, and darker days.

That was natural after recent events. I forced myself to pull away from that as I finally drifted into downtime and memories of Oklahoma.

*********

_The hall rang with the hum of conversation sprinkled with the chink of glasses and polite laughter. The wedding celebrations at the Oklahoma City ‘palace’ were in full swing._

_The contract had been finalised on the night I left Louisiana, and I'd been allowed a last week of freedom in a local hotel while my new quarters were readied. I'd managed to have part of the east wing of the main building adapted and I was moderately pleased with it. The quarters were jammed of course, so I couldn't make phone calls from inside, but that also meant I had true privacy there as Freyda couldn't bug them either._

_She would have no need anyway. I didn't intend using them for company. I winced inwardly at that: anyone I trusted enough to invite into my private space would be out of reach._

_Outwardly, I feigned interest in the investments the Oklahoma City Mayor was trying to tempt me with and ignored the two guards watching me like hawks._

_Freyda was nearby, networking with another group of business men. I could already tell she would make a good business partner. She was certainly using the charms of her deep blue gown to good effect. She caught my eye with a flirtatious smile and I winked at her lazily. She smirked and turned back to the men, dazzling them with a smile._

_I had plans for her tonight, but I would keep her waiting as long as possible under the pretence of getting to know the locals._

_After our first formal blood exchange earlier I was relieved to find that I couldn't feel her emotions, only the low hum of her existence and a vague sense of her location. Enough for my role as Royal Consort – that is, as her bodyguard – but not intrusive. Even better, it seemed she could not feel me either. I had sent her everything from murderous rage to full-on lust at various points during the evening and she had not reacted at all. That made hiding my true intentions from her much easier._

_Much later she led me impatiently to ‘our’ room, neutral ground as she was not foolish enough to trust me in her chambers, nor did I trust her in mine. I was disappointed to find a cliché of red silk and hanging gauze curtains – a harem room, not the most original choice. The guards stayed outside, so we were as private as possible. She'd become strangely passive once we were alone. Perhaps, like so many young female European vampires of her age, she had been taught in her human life that a woman's role in bed was to follow the man's lead. Usually that was a pity, but I could have some fun with that tonight._

_In short order I stripped us both and took her roughly three times – on the bed, against the wall and finally from behind on the bed again. She was enthusiastically loud, but I made sure that each time I finished just as her orgasm was beginning to build, and immediately pulled out leaving her wanting._

_It was during my time with Ocella that I had developed the ability to be … premature at will, something most men would do anything to avoid. It had been a way to eke back the tiniest sliver of control in a situation in which I had none. It had been much harder to do convincingly with my maker who could read my every mood and kept me tightly bound to him in the early years with frequent blood exchanges. I’d used the skill sparingly with him and I was pleased I still had it after years of disuse._

_I flopped back onto the bed after my third orgasm, grinning like a fool. I could practically feel Freyda's bewilderment as she took in my Cheshire cat grin. She was still struggling to work out what just happened as I pulled on my clothes, whistling cheerfully. I leant over the bed and smacked her lightly on the ass saying, “See you at sunset, my Queen.”_

_She was too stunned to reply as I sauntered out of the room, chuckling inwardly all the way back to my quarters._

_By the fourth night of the worst sex I could get away with dishing out, she was resorting to bringing donors in with us. She was still bewildered that I seemed to be completely oblivious to her lack of satisfaction. She couldn’t quite believe I was doing it_ _deliberately_ _. Generally men wish to perform well and are proud of a good reputation in bed, and I was reputed to be both proud and skilled. I could see she didn't know what to think. I was enjoying toying with her tremendously._

_On the seventh night she was desperate enough to try fae blood. I guessed what was in the stoppered bottle before she opened it, and knew it might end my game if I lost control. I made a snap decision to run with it rather than fight it, snatching the bottle and draining it when she offered it. I let it take me, focusing on the bloodlust. When I came back to myself, she was shaken and bruised, with fear in her eyes, and the room was a mess. I wasn't sure whether we'd fucked or fought, but I was sure she wouldn't risk that again._

…

_The sparring room rang with the clash of swords. I was teaching a young Russian vampire, Nikolai, some techniques with the short sword. He had a stocky build, a broad nose and a mop of unruly blond hair. I knocked him on his ass for the umpteenth time tonight and laughed at him._

_He swore in Russian profusely. “Enough, enough. My pride will never recover.”_

_I snorted. “You don't have any pride Nikolai. I heard about the cook.” The cook, who catered for the donors, was a fat, sweaty, middle-aged guy. Most royal residences, and Freyda's was no exception, were rife with gossip. The latest was that one of the donors had caught Nikolai and the cook playing hide the sausage in the kitchen one night._

“ _What did you hear – that I asked him to make some borscht to remind me of home?”_

“ _Did he make you sausage to go with that?” I teased him, smirking._

_With a wicked grin, he proceeded to tell me exactly what I could do with my sausage in very blue Russian. I was still laughing to myself about some of his suggestions as I left, my two guards trailing behind me. I had to discuss the new security equipment with Freyda’s second._

_I ignored the noises and walked straight in to his office. Jean-Luc was behind his desk feeding from a red-head sitting on his lap. I recognised her vaguely from the donor lounge._

_After the ‘honeymoon’ week, Freyda had made a tactical withdrawal from what I'd privately named our Battle Orgasmic. We'd had a few skirmishes since, but mostly she'd left me alone on that front. I'd entertained myself for the first three months by disappointing donors to keep Freyda wondering if my reputation as a lover was overblown. I'd chosen the ones that most resembled her and I'd insist they blew me while I fed from the wrist, which generally left them completely underwhelmed._

_Freyda had got wind of it eventually. She’d found the idea that I had some fantasy of her kneeling and servicing me completely unacceptable, and she'd had them all glamoured to refuse to blow me. Since then I'd been fucking them sporadically over the last few months. I found them even less appealing than Freyda._

_I knew why. It was little things. A ponytail, a certain perfume, the curve of a neck, sometimes even just their warmth – sudden sharp reminders that I didn’t want. Thankfully Freyda prompted none of those. It was irritating enough having to fuck her as it was._

_Jean-Luc made a point to finish his meal slowly, before acknowledging me with a curt nod as I sprawled insolently on his couch. The dark haired French vampire was lithe and athletic, an excellent fencer and savate fighter. He didn't like me, I didn't like him. He was pissed Freyda had brought me in on security, which was his domain, and even more pissed when she took my suggestions seriously._

_Tough. I outranked him, and he was only four centuries old even if he was the oldest in her retinue before I came along to step on his toes six months ago._

…

_Freyda was late. We were waiting in the conference room._

_The accountant fiddled with his papers, and I idly flicked through the financial reports to cover my annoyance. I had learnt much about the oil and gas industry in the last fifteen months here, and our newest ventures were flourishing. I had thrown myself into the challenge at first, but my enthusiasm was waning. It wasn't the same when someone else got the profits._

_Freyda was pleased with my performance so far I thought. Well, financially and in terms of the security she wanted. In the bedroom, not so much._

_Three months ago, she’d mounted a determined assault in our little game. She'd attempted to seduce me into the art of foreplay a half dozen times, and every time I'd feigned a brief mild interest, then impatiently jumped to the main course serving her up the same unappetising fast food._

_She’d eventually thrown a spectacular tantrum._

_I’d relished telling her it wasn't my problem: it wasn't in the contract that I had to provide her with orgasms. I’d even dared to insinuate it must be her fault because no-one else had complained, so obviously she was the one with a problem. She'd actually slapped me at that, and it had been difficult not to laugh in her face._

_Since then she'd been distinctly chilly. Oh, she was cordial enough that we could present a united front on everything else, but she was definitely unhappy with her purchase._

_Caveat emptor Freyda, caveat emptor._

_Last week she'd banned me from the donors in a fit of pique after she caught me with one in 'our' room._

_I admit that had been disrespectful. I hadn’t planned it. I'd actually managed to give my constant watchers the slip by dodging into that room – the lack of privacy was beginning to get to me – and I was surprised to find a donor in there cleaning. One thing led to another, and I had enjoyed myself properly for the first time in over a year ... shame the donor couldn't keep quiet. Freyda's face was a picture though._

_Ah, here was my Queen now._

_Freyda swept in with Jean-Luc on her arm, and they reeked of sex. Really? The jealousy card? I wouldn't have to fake my indifference._

“ _Eric, I'm so sorry we kept you waiting, you know how it is when a girl's having fun. Or perhaps you don't,” She smiled vindictively, and Jean-Luc smirked._

_I smirked back, “Well, now you_ kids _have finished, we have annual reports to review.”_

_She stiffened a little at the slight on her age, but caught herself and sat gracefully at the head of the table when Jean-Luc pulled out her chair._

_After we'd gone through the figures we discussed a couple of recent issues with the Fellowship, who were targeting the southern part of Oklahoma in a recruitment drive. After that I made a point of stretching for Freyda's benefit before we wrapped up the meeting and dispersed._

_When she stopped with Jean-Luc at the top of the sweeping staircase to the lobby, I fired my latest salvo by making sure I passed close to her._

_I knew she'd caught the scent when she hissed behind me._

“ _Consort, a word before you retire”, she snapped._

_I turned back and looked puzzled, “Your majesty?”_

_Jean-Luc looked outraged and took a step forward, “You came into the Queen's presence stinking of donors she has forbidden you!”_

“ _I took the time to shower. And I still made the meeting on time,” I pointed out mildly. “Besides, her majesty only banned me from the donors. It wasn't a donor.”_

_He stepped closer and inhaled. “I don't recognise the scent, your Majesty.”_

“ _Who was it?” she snarled._

_I shrugged and said, “I think he's one of the gardeners. He was arranging flowers. Tanned, muscled, dark hair. Actually looks a little like you Jean-Luc.” He made a strangled noise._

_Freyda looked absolutely furious. Oops. “You don't even like men!” she hissed._

_I shrugged again. “Variety is the spice of life, they say.”_

_I would have thrown a wink at Jean-Luc but I didn't want to find out if vampires were capable of fainting. His expression was priceless enough already. Freyda struggled to compose herself by pacing wildly for a few minutes. She did not have the discipline of age._

“ _Leave us Jean-Luc.” she ground out finally with a sharp gesture. He looked at her for a second, glanced at her personal guard hovering in the background, then bowed deeply and sped down the stairs._

_She came to a halt in front of me, and made a visible effort to look contrite._

“ _Eric,” she said, putting a hand on my arm. I felt her fingers twitch with the desire to gouge me viciously. She relaxed her grip and stroked me in a soothing manner. I relaxed my jaw deliberately before it could tense._

“ _You must understand Jean-Luc and I have fucked on and off for years. He means nothing. Do not be angry with me.” She looked up at me coyly and inched closer. Oh, never seen that move before, I thought sarcastically._

“ _I have been unfair to deny you the pleasure of the donors,” she breathed out huskily. “I will rescind my order.” She pressed against me and dropped her gaze to my lips._

_Hmm. I wasn't sure where she was going with this sudden generosity, but what the hell. A little flattery greases the wheel, and she had been very angry about that donor. I could play nice too. I brushed my lips against hers, and whispered huskily back, “Thank you, my Queen.”_

_She leant into me briefly, and then caught herself. She stepped away and snapped back into business mode._

“ _Don't forget the meeting tomorrow about security for the December trade conference, Consort.”_

_I nodded deeply, and then frowned at her back as she swept down the staircase. I had a nagging feeling that had gone too well and it was going come back to bite me in the ass._


	4. Not So Sweet Dreams

_After a year and a half, it was pleasant to get out of Oklahoma in December._

_We were staying at an exclusive vampire-owned hotel outside Kansas City for what had been renamed a ‘trade conference’. It had been a run of the mill sheriff’s conference, until a handful of monarchs had co-opted it for their own meetings._

_From Zeus clan Texas, Nebraska, Oklahoma and Kansas were here in person; others sent representatives. The full Zeus summit was due in twelve months, but there were pressing issues that needed state-to-state cooperation before then, some political and some security. Of the latter, the continuing problem of anti-vampire fanaticism in the southern states in particular._

_Kansas was making a killing with the room tariffs so he was an eager host. He’d built the hotel post Rhodes and kept the place word of mouth only so he could use its off-the-human-radar status as a selling point. Vampires would pay extra for that sense of security._

_It was a low key event. The Oklahoma party comprised only Freyda, myself, Jean-Luc and the two guards she most favoured. They were twins – tall, swarthy, impressive-looking Sicilians, with a penchant for knife throwing. She was obviously inviting comparison with Sophie Ann and her Saxon children. The Sicilians were easier on the eye, but too young at two centuries to be as impressive if it came to a real fight._

_To reinforce her image, and as payback for the donor and the stunt with the gardener, I had to stand behind Freyda in meetings and remain silent unless spoken to directly. It was irritating, but honestly it made sense that I appeared as mindless muscle not a real source of political power. Puppet queens did not last: a change of ruler right now was in nobody’s interest._

_I had rattled my cage more than was wise recently, so when we were alone I was generous with titbits about other vampires and negotiating tactics. She used my advice with Texas and got what she wanted from an oil refinery deal, which pleased her. She praised me enthusiastically for that, as if I were a pup eager to lap up every drop of his mistress’s attention. I took her effusive approval graciously, swallowing my annoyance at the implied disrespect._

_The most excitement so far was yesterday’s meeting with Texas and Nebraska. It was hilarious._

_Freyda had to be gracious while Nebraska flirted shamelessly with her for the whole lengthy discussion, not two hours after she'd called him a moron with the physique of a whale and the personality of a dung beetle. He’d laid it on so thick I began to suspect he'd bugged our suite and actually heard her insults._

_Tonight we were mingling. I stayed a step behind her majesty, projecting quiet strength instead of the mind numbing boredom I felt._

_Indiana was here to settle a dispute with Kansas, and he'd asked to meet with Freyda later. I'd made some investments in biotechnology for her and she held some useful patents as a result. Indiana wanted a licencing agreement so that his pharmaceutical company could use them. He was chatting on the other side of the room and I was watching him surreptitiously, planning strategy for the meeting._

_I was surprised to see Mississippi approach him. He must have just arrived. I didn’t know he was attending._

_Seeing them greeting each other, memories of Rhodes were on my mind. A flash of blonde caught my eye, and I scanned to my left covertly with a sudden thrill, only to be disappointed by a plain hotel worker. When I looked back at Indiana he was watching me intently, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully._

_I looked away, pretending there was nothing for him to notice. I tried to believe it was Pam I thought I’d glimpsed. After a minute, I glumly admitted to myself that that was ridiculous. I would have felt Pam. That sudden thrill was for someone else entirely._

_When I first arrived in Oklahoma, I refused to dwell on how it ended between us. Only in the stillness of my resting place just before dawn had I allowed myself to think of her. I tried to remain angry with her at first. Then I spent many dawns examining every conversation, every interaction, trying to see where I'd read her so wrong._

_I examined all my actions towards her for fault, for what I could have played better, painful though it was to admit my own mistakes. Then finally, I tried not to think of her at all._

_But that was impossible._

…

_Eventually we met with Indiana in a side room._

_It was just him and Russell on one side, Freyda and Jean-Luc across the table from them, and me standing mute behind my queen. Freyda drove a hard bargain on the price, just as I'd advised. We seemed to reach a consensus but Indiana was hesitant, looking askance at Russell._

“ _I think my husband can be persuaded to pay what you ask,” Russell said to Freyda and then he flicked his eyes to me and added, “If you sweeten the pot a little.”_

_At that Indiana gave me a more lingering gaze that Freyda could not fail to spot._

_Freyda purred, “What sort of a sweetener did you have in mind?”_

_Indiana turned to Russell asking, “Darling, are you sure?” and Russell gave him a wide smile showing fang. I held myself completely still, and looked straight at the wall over their heads._

_Indiana said, “This is my last meeting, but we are here for two more nights. It’s hard to get quality time together with the demands of two kingdoms. We really need to let our hair down, as they say.”_

_There was a pause. I felt Indiana’s gaze again. I kept still and willed myself not to move my eyes from the wall._

_Then Freyda spoke decisively. “Well, I think I can assist you with that. My Consort is always willing to aid my state in any way he can.” She emphasised the ‘my state’ to remind me disobeying her was treason._

“ _Of course. He is an asset to your throne, my dear.” said Russell, and I could hear the leer in his voice._

_Indiana added, “We appreciate your generosity. He will be returned in the same condition.”_

“ _He is free for the rest of tonight but I must have him back half an hour before dawn,” she replied._

“ _The night is young, send your consort to my suite in an hour and I'm sure he can ... entertain us until you need him.”_

…

_Back in our suite, Freyda failed to hide her glee. She sent me to shower and change, telling me how to dress as if I hadn’t been dealing with royalty for centuries before her grandparents were even born. I took as long as I could._

_She fussed over my suit when I returned. Adjusting my tie she said lightly, “Now be sure to give it your all Eric, you are representing me tonight.” She looked up to see my reaction and I let her see my anger full force. She took an involuntary step back, and then smiled viciously saying, “But darling, I thought you liked_ variety _.”_

_I stalked out of the suite without answering her._

_One of the twins escorted me. The talkative one, Salvatore. While he prattled, I calmed myself and calculated._

_Russell was older than me by a good few centuries for certain, and Bartlett Crowe was rumoured to be even older. Two to one I would be at their mercy, vulnerable. I did not desire either of them, but I knew how to please men. I wasn’t afraid of that, however unwanted on my part. But if this wasn't lust alone … maybe they wanted to gain a foothold in Freyda's kingdom._

_Bartlett’s comment about returning me in the same condition implied there would be no blood exchange, but I feared a forced one to ensure my co-operation in some political scheme. Freyda would have no comeback as she hadn’t specifically forbidden it._

_I would need to point that out to her, in case she thought to use me this way again. Not that I wanted to encourage that, but once word got round… I tried not to think about that._

_We reached Indiana's door all too soon. I knocked without hesitating, damping down the feeling of panic._

_Russell opened the door in a robe purring my name. A strong smell of sex wafted from the lounge area behind him. He kissed me full on the mouth, and apologised that they'd started without me, drawing me into the room and shutting the door on Salvatore as he was saying he would wait to escort ‘the leftovers’ back to Freyda._

_Russell sat us together on one of the couches and ran his fingers through my hair. I leaned into him looking at his lips and turning on the charm. Might as well go all in._

“ _Russell, stop teasing the boy,” said a deep affectionate voice. Indiana emerged from one of the bedrooms bare-chested, his curly hair wet. He’d left the door ajar. “Bring him in here.”_

_Boy? Ah. That implied he was_ much older _than me. Shit._

_Time to brazen it out. I_ _shucked_ _my shoes, jacket and tie slowly while Russell eyed me appreciatively._

“ _Leave the rest for now,” he said, tugging me eagerly by the hand into the bedroom. Bartlett shut the door behind us and I turned at the foot of the bed to see him fiddling with the handle for a second. I sensed magic._

_When he turned to face us, he was suddenly serious. Russell dropped my hand and the whole atmosphere changed._

“ _Please, sit,” Bartlett indicated a red velvet chaise lounge behind me. He sat next to Russell on the end of the bed._

_I sat, keeping my face blank, and waited to find out what they wanted._

“ _I met your maker once or twice,” said Bartlett. I blinked in surprise at the topic. “In Europe, many centuries ago,” he expanded, gesturing dismissively. “I understand Freyda was his choice.”_

_I nodded slightly. Admitting that much was safe. Although it wasn’t common knowledge, so I wondered who had told him. Perhaps Felipe had been gloating about getting rid of me, I thought bitterly._

_Russell took in my restrained response and said, “He thinks we mean to encourage treason, my love.”_

“ _He is right to be cautious. Consort is a precarious position.”_

_Yes, it was. My situation even more so than usual, although I hoped he wasn’t fully aware of the exact details. If they were about to propose action against Freyda I would have to tread very carefully. I looked between them._

_Bartlett was absently stroking his husband’s thigh. His behaviour was out of place for a potentially delicate political proposal. They seemed... relaxed. Too relaxed. It was putting me more on edge._

_Bartlett chuckled at my discomfort. “The room is warded Northman. You can speak freely.”_

_I glanced at the door. It might be warded from outside eavesdroppers, but they could still record me saying something unwise. I had to be circumspect. “I see. And what is it you want to discuss exactly?”_

“ _Nothing. Russell is merely repaying a favour.”_

“ _Your majesty?” I directed to Edgington._

“ _Ah, yes.” He moved to a roll-top desk and raised the lid, revealing a laptop which he opened and turned on._

_Bartlett regarded me intently. “Russell is a romantic; he has a soft spot for you because you conducted our ceremony. He was disappointed to hear of your marriage to Oklahoma.” He paused, watching me. I kept my face still, wondering where he was going with this, racing over possibilities._

“ _Russell had the impression you are better suited to blondes … Louisiana blondes.”_

_I tensed slightly before I could stop myself. They’d been among those who’d issued her protection but that would mean squat to most monarchs if it got in the way of political ambition. Shit, did he know I was behind those protection orders? Did they plan to use her against me? My reaction, however slight, betrayed my connection to her._

_He sat back at my error as if we’d just concluded a deal to his satisfaction. My mouth went dry. I might as well have offered him my neck and painted a target on her back._

_Then he glanced at Russell his expression softening. “I have been fortunate in my own marriage,” he said softly and then he met my eyes with a look of sympathy. “It is difficult to lose those we love.”_

_My eyes widened in shock. Simultaneously my fists and throat clenched. I wanted to kill him for speaking about it, for the pity in his eyes, for the sudden ache in my chest and the frustration of it all. I wanted to smash the room up in a rage at this, this … mess I was in._

_He coughed, and I realised my fangs were down and I was tensed to fight. I immediately dropped my gaze to the floor, forced my fangs up, and took up a submissive position._

_Once I had control of myself, I apologised but he waved me quiet and said, “Is it ready Russell?”_

“ _Yes, all set my love.”_

_Bartlett looked at his watch. “It’s a secure connection. You have ten minutes.”_

_They sped out of the suite and the door locked after them. I noted the time, and moved to sit in front of the blank screen. The webcam at the top blinked and the screen came to life._

“ _Surprise,” said a bored voice. “I see the old southern queen made good on his favour.”_

_It was Pam. Pam in dimly lit and nondescript office._

“My child _,” I whispered in Norse, overwhelmed to see her, and I reached out impulsively to touch her face on the screen. She whispered, “_ My Maker _,” and reached out her hand too._

_After a second I dropped my hand and spoke sternly. “This is a risk you did not need to take so soon.”_

_She shrugged. “I need to make sure someone is picking up your wet towels, cleaning your bathroom, yada, yada. You know you can’t cope without me.”_

_I laughed. “Yes, cleaning my own quarters is a drag.” She raised an eyebrow and then nodded;_ _intuiting_ _my resting place was secure in what was still hostile territory as I knew she would. ”Now tell me everything,” I demanded._

_We spoke rapidly in my native tongue. She was doing well as Sheriff, and we swapped updates of the last eighteen months first. Then she amused me with an anecdote about Maxwell and an incident with Thalia and a hair-dryer. I amused her with stories of Nikolai’s outrageous tall tales and even more outrageous profanities, and my current game of one-upmanship with Jean-Luc._

_I didn’t talk about my personal connection to Freyda, and she didn’t ask. It wasn’t until the last moment that I asked the question I most wanted answered. Pam had just glanced at her watch and sighed._

“ _Is Sookie well Pam?” I asked, going for offhand. Like she didn’t know better._

_At least she was too far away to feel any hint of my emotions, despite that last blood exchange under Freyda’s watchful gaze. Even a queen couldn’t stop me giving my children my strength before I had to leave them, but she had insisted on being present. Paranoid bitch._

_Pam looked away and said, “She lives.”_

_When I made an impatient noise she added reluctantly, “There have been some issues. But they were dealt with and she is well.” She wouldn’t meet my eyes._

_I nodded and ignored what she wasn’t saying for now. There was nothing I could do about any of it. I just had to hope what I’d done was enough and not drive myself mad with possibilities before the next time I could get some news. Fuck if I knew when that would be._

“ _And you Pam?”_

“ _Yes Eric, I am well.”_

“ _Good. Being Sheriff suits you, but don’t get too cocky.” I smiled at her._

_She flashed me that wicked grin and said, “Oh I leave that to you Master,” and with a wink she broke the connection._

_I closed the laptop and stared into space. Mostly good news from home, then. I should feel more … content. Instead suddenly I longed for the humid Louisiana night. I sighed, and focused on parcelling that longing up to examine later. Later, when I was safe in my quarters. Back in my cage._

_A soft knock interrupted my dark thoughts. “Come,” I said shutting the desk and moving towards the bed._

_It was Russell. And a friend. A very tall, graceful friend. She smiled at me, her teeth white against her beautiful ebony skin, her deep brown eyes warm with anticipation as she drank me in._

“ _A little gift from us. Consider it a late thank you for officiating at Rhodes,” Russell said. “She’s Ethiopian, very talented or so I’m told.”_

“ _Thank you, you and Bartlett are most generous.” I bowed, not sure whether to be offended that they’d clearly chosen the exact opposite of what I was ‘better suited to’ or whether to admit to myself that I was actually quite thankful for that._

…

_Two hours later my very flexible meal was smiling in her sleep next to me on the rumpled bed and I was relaxing, replete with blood and orgasms. There was a cheerful rap on the door just before it was thrown open and two kings entered laughing. Russell closed the door quickly._

“ _Northman, you and this room must smell of us before you leave,” said Bartlett. That explained why they were both naked._

“ _Such a hardship for us,” chuckled Russell, and Bartlett snorted and called him a slut affectionately._

_I sat up about to ask who was going first, when I was suddenly pushed back and sandwiched between them. I was glad I was already sated, because Russell was right, it wasn’t at all unpleasant as they rubbed all over me. Like an all over massage. Except for the ass grabbing – that was Russell. I gave him a sharp look as he got off the bed._

“ _What? That ass is too good not to grab,” he said playfully._

_Those words, those exact words said playfully just like that, even the damn accent … I suddenly felt very exposed._

“ _Russell, fetch me my robe darling.” Bartlett asked. Russell looked at him, then nodded and left. I was up off the bed and pulling my clothes on at full speed._

“ _Russell can be a little tactless, I apologise.”_

_I pulled a hand through my hair, and shrugged. I didn’t trust myself to speak, and he looked at me with concern._

_He reached over to the_ _nightstand_ _for a pen and paper. “You have more allies than you realise Eric. If you have need of them…”_

_He wrote quickly and handed me the scrap of paper – a phone number and an email address. I memorised them without questioning him. It would be churlish when he had already taken a risk for me tonight. I handed the paper back, and bowed deeply._

“ _Watch your back Eric,” he said as I left._

_I walked quickly back to our rooms, Salvatore trotting to keep up and wisely not cracking jokes once he caught my expression._

_Freyda was waiting for me, lounging on the couch in an open robe. When I ignored her, going straight towards my room she jumped over the couch into my path._

_I snarled at her. “Do not try my patience.”_

_She leant in close and made a show of inhaling my scent. “No blood exchange. Good. You belong only to me.”_

_I growled._

“ _And you smell like you entertained them well.” She smirked and stepped out of my way. Good, let her think I was angry at being whored out. I needed to get to my room._

_I shut the door and locked it. I took off my jacket and shoes, throwing them in the corner angrily, and then I sat on the bed with my head in my hands. Fuck, why did everything have to remind me of her? Fucking feelings. I had been all over the place tonight, in the presence of two powerful kings, in a dangerous situation. I was lucky Bartlett hadn't taken offense. I had to do better than that._

_I remembered the way he looked at me with pity and groaned out loud._

_Shit. Freyda had cameras in this room. I bet she was just lapping this up. Well, at least she wouldn't suspect the whole thing had been a cover for Pam contacting me with the way I was acting._

_I switched off the light and threw myself on the bed without undressing further. I attempted to assess the evening rationally._

_How far were my unexpected ‘allies’ willing to go? If Bartlett was just indulging Russell's romantic notions, his support would only stretch to passing on a message to Pam in an emergency. Bartlett was not known for his softer side; rather he had a reputation for being shrewd and cautious. Why would he get involved?_

_Perhaps he had history with Freyda. Or he was just paying back whatever Pam had done to earn a favour from them. I felt like I was missing something, probably something fermenting in Amun, but I was out of that loop._

_It had been good to see Pam at least. I was pleased she found a way to contact me. I pushed away worries about what she’d had to do to arrange it and when I’d hear from her again._

_I glanced at the clock. Another five minutes until dawn. I turned onto my side to hide my face from the cameras. I tried to think pleasant thoughts about the talented Ethiopian girl, her skin so dark against mine, but another tanned body kept taking her place. I wondered what she was doing tonight before I could stop myself. Pam wouldn't look at me when she spoke of her: I had guessed what that meant. She belonged to someone else._

_Good, it would give her protection, and I wanted her safe._

_I should be relieved, but all I felt was turmoil._

_I had always wanted her beyond reason – even when everything I’d been taught and experienced screamed that I should leave her alone, put an end to all the foolish risks I kept taking. Risks that made Felipe inclined to get rid of me, made this mess inescapable. I should have been more careful, more rational. Maybe then there would have been a way out. Even if losing her was inevitable, at least I’d be free._

_Fuck, I couldn’t stop myself speculating. I’d pushed her at the shifter. Was it him? Or the tiger? The wolf? Someone completely new? I tried to focus on gauging who would be better suited to protect her, but a sudden wave of longing swept over me._

_I closed my eyes against it and willed the dawn to take me._

…

_Things had been tense that summer. We had problems with Fellowship again._

_They'd made the mistake of targeting weres in the military the previous year, and it lost them a lot of public support. The swing in opinion hadn't been quite enough to stop the new laws, because there were political forces at work in their favour. Right wing hawks were convinced shapeshifters had potential that the military and law enforcement needed. Consequently they wanted to keep track of the newly revealed community. So the Two-Natured Registration Act had been in place for six months – so much for the plan to use its failure to pass to argue for more vampire rights._

_That was unlikely to work anyway, as the shapeshifters attempts to present themselves as cute and cuddly had morphed into emphasising how much more 'human' and less dangerous they were than vampire. Efforts had been made to persuade them to present a united supernatural front with us instead, and a few shifters and weres had tried, but it was like herding cats. Or more accurately like herding a whole zoo. A disorganised zoo. Their political organisation was still fragmented and localised._

_The sporadic attacks on shapeshifters and their property had died down before the Act passed, but flared up again. The Fellowship had a new paramilitary arm calling themselves ‘The Chosen’: soldiers who believed themselves hand-picked by their God to protect his chosen people, the humans made in his image. They had discovered that vampires often used Weres for daytime security, and had begun targeting Weres who worked for vampires._

_It was a simple but effective way to set the two supernatural groups against each other. Divide and conquer was a tactic as old as war. It would work all too well if old tensions between the fanged and the furred were allowed to resurface, if disputes between us were left to fester unaddressed, not brought into the open and dealt with fairly._

_That led to my tasks tonight in my role as Freyda's Enforcer._

_I had risen seven nights ago to an atmosphere of restrained tension. David Jephson, a grizzled red-haired werewolf who was head of daytime security, had been waiting outside my office door._

…

_The agitated wolf explained briskly that one of his team, one Ralph Howard, had been caught smuggling a group of three men into the palace, disguised as workmen and carrying incendiary devices. Freyda was extending the main hall to make it more impressive, so they hadn’t been spotted amongst the construction crew. The would-be bombers were under lock and key, and the unconscious traitor was in my office._

_Jephson was ex-military and hard on his men. He brooked no disloyalty and would consider that this Ralph had put his entire team in danger by betraying us. I was surprised that he hadn't taken him straight to Freyda._

_I stepped into my office to find the battered prisoner tied to a chair, guarded by two of Jephson’s weres. Jephson followed me in, dismissing the guards. He cleared his throat nervously after they left and I raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for an explanation._

_He told me several odd things. Firstly the bomb plot was foiled by an anonymous tip-off that came from a payphone in downtown Tulsa that afternoon, a recorded message that was digitally camouflaged. Secondly, two of the bombers had taken V and consequently had been difficult to restrain. And finally he admitted he'd known Ralph since he was a child and found it hard to believe he'd done this willingly. At that I understood he'd come to me first because I would investigate the loose ends before passing judgement on someone he obviously considered family._

_It turned out his instincts were on the nose. Ralph had been almost hysterical when I slapped him awake – his wife and child had been taken hostage by a second group of three men. From what he witnessed they were ex-military, and proudly admitted they were ‘Chosen’._

_Jephson organised a search for the woman and child, whilst I questioned the bombers after setting my day man to work on the tip-off. Jack Carter, a thin, dour human who came highly recommended as an efficient PA, had contacts in the tech world. He was competent, even if he was reporting my every move to Freyda._

_We found the hostages a night later in a run-down barn an hour to the south of the city. The child was barely alive, but perhaps better off dead: she had witnessed her mother being dismembered alive. She was draped over the remains when we arrived. Our Weres tracked the culprits south but the trail went cold. The bastards had obviously dispatched the woman and fled as soon as they knew the bombs had not been set._

_The following night, I'd forcefully questioned the mercenaries a second time, frustrated I couldn’t get answers with glamour. Some sort of protection prevented them revealing information about their fellow conspirators. That meant a witch. That the fanatics had access to one was worrying._

_The fourth night we identified the three hostage-takers thanks to an ectoplasmic reconstruction in the barn by our own hired witches. Ralph Howard watched it all stoically, much to my admiration._

_Two nights later, we caught the butcher responsible for his wife’s gruesome end. The other two, who’d merely looked on without intervening, had vanished. At that point the investigation seemed exhausted, and the three bombers, slightly worse for wear, were handed over to human law enforcement with a stack of sworn testimonies and security footage._

_Human justice would be slow and not nearly painful enough to satisfy Freyda, let alone Howard who lost the most. In the past they would have suffered and died at our hands, but things had to change. Since Rhodes the human government was willing to punish acts of terrorism against us, and in return we had to rein in our thirst for bloody vengeance. At least when we couldn’t hide the evidence._

_I'd returned from the police handover to find Carter waiting in my office with a cleaned-up version of the tip-off. Jephson recognised the voice. It was a young female vampire who resided in Tulsa, barely a century old. Her name was Grace Dubois._

_She was my first task tonight._

…

_Disputes were heard in the second hall. Not as large as the main hall, it was plainly decorated with white walls and black velvet drapes. The high ceiling was adorned by a single chandelier, and the floor was a black and white chequerboard of large tiles, for easy cleaning._

_I sat to Freyda's right on the dais, ours the only seats in the room. The Sicilians stood to either side, their knife belts a visible reminder to keep order. Other guards were scattered discretely around the room and there was an air of quiet anticipation. It was usually vamp only, but tonight a dozen weres stood against the wall to my right with Ralph and an older couple, pale with grief for their daughter, Ralph’s wife. They were here to see justice done._

_Grace was brought in by the Tulsa sheriff, Boscombe. A tall, part-Cherokee vampire with black hair and startling grey eyes, he was three centuries old. Freyda had appointed him when she took the throne, probably in return for his help removing the last incumbent. Tulsa was profitable so his part in that treachery was well rewarded._

_Grace stood alone in the clear space in front of the dais. She was tall and willowy, with strong features and short mousy brown hair. She was defiant while the charges were read: treason against the state, passing information to the Fellowship, attempted murder on a dozen counts, and commissioning the unlawful murder of a Were. The last was a bone thrown to the wolves for the loss of their female._

“ _I had nothing to do with it.” Her voice rang out clear and confident. “We all know the Bureau leaks like a sieve and twoey information can be bought for a pittance on the black market.”_

_She was right. The new Bureau of Supernatural Affairs had been rocked by scandal within months of opening. A Washington Post journalist had bought names and addresses culled from the register from a shady online chat room linked to fundamentalist groups. After the story broke, the groups involved got a slap on the wrist and a fine, but the source of the leak was never found. The Bureau had purged its staff and increased its protection from hackers. There was a futile class action brought against the government over it, and many shapeshifters were refusing to register._

_Freyda gestured to my day man and Carter stepped forward holding a_ _dictaphone._ _He played the original tip-off first and then the cleaned up version. There were noises of disapproval as the audience recognised her voice._

_She was shaken but still defiant. “That is proof I am loyal, your majesty. I discovered my day man was working for the Fellowship. Just before dawn he revealed this building would be bombed. I could only hope the message I recorded would arrive in time.”_

“ _And I suppose your day man is conveniently dead.” Freyda's voice was icy. “Do you think I am a fool? Why disguise your voice?”_

_Grace replied simply, “Your Majesty has a reputation for shooting messengers.” Then she looked right at me, her expression relaxed, accepting._

_Something didn’t fit._

_If she could meet her end unflinching, she was no coward. She would not hide behind a distorted recording. Something was not what it seemed. Her words took on a second meaning. What message was she sending me?_

_My mind raced with possibilities, but I kept silent while Jephson told the room the history lesson he had given me earlier._

_Grace had been in a bitter dispute with the wolf pack in Lawton around fifteen years ago. Her blood sibling had been killed in the daytime by a rival, and she had blamed the Weres who were guarding him. One of them had been Ralph's father and as the eldest he had taken responsibility. She wanted his life, but his packmaster ruled for blood money only. She had to be ordered from the area by the sheriff when she wouldn't let it go. The fine had been substantial and the wolf had died in the pits five years later attempting to pay it off anyway. Jephson said it was widely known Grace still bore a grudge against the family, and she had reacted angrily when she found out Ralph worked here._

_I had postulated that Grace had passed Ralph's address to the Fellowship out of spite, and when they had found out he worked here they’d planned the bomb plot by themselves. I thought Grace had uncovered the plot by accident and tried to warn us. In the past Freyda would have punished her for dealing with the Fellowship, but not given two hoots about the Were or his family. These days she could not allow disputes with the Weres to escalate and she had decided to make an example of Grace._

_Grace knew she would be ended for this. I watched her closely._

_Her whole demeanour changed as she threw herself on Freyda's mercy. Her voice shrill with fright, she pleaded that she had been ignorant of the threat to the crown, that it was all the Fellowship’s doing, that she thought Ralph was untrustworthy like his father, and what was one less stinking wolf in the world anyway?_

_I was sure she was faking her fear after the steady look she gave me before. Her performance was a deflection so we would execute her and look no further._

_Shit, I'd accepted it too easily. This plot involved more than one vampire with a fifteen year grudge against a Were family. The mercenaries on V, the involvement of a witch…_

_Fuck. It_ _had been_ _a serious attempt on the throne by vampires unknown, using the Chosen as fall guys. Not Grace acting alone._

_Either Grace had stumbled across it and tried to warn us, or she had been involved herself and was trying to warn me now that she had been set up as a convenient scapegoat by her fellow conspirators. Who else was involved?_

_Freyda cut off Grace’s pleas, and stood to give judgement in a ringing voice._

“ _We cannot afford to be put at risk over petty grudges. We must not allow the Fellowship to drive a wedge between our two communities. We must unite against our common enemy and I will not tolerate any vampire who threatens that unity.”_

_She nodded to me, and I flashed to the floor. As I drove the stake into her heart, Grace stood proud and unbowed, meeting my eyes with no resentment._

_As her body crumpled, I looked over her right into Boscombe's clear grey eyes. He showed no reaction to her death._

_The call came from Tulsa...._

…

_Freyda’s interrogation room was one of a half dozen rooms hidden beneath the residence, accessed through a seemingly little-used back corridor. There were cells and a guard room, all under surveillance from the main residence. It had been dug decades ago, part of the original build, but modernised just before Freyda took over._

_The cast iron brazier of glowing coals looked out of place next to the brushed steel fixtures and clean white walls, bright under the fluorescent lights. I turned the sword balanced over the hot coals, making sure it heated evenly. The naked man hanging above the plastic sheeting whimpered behind me._

_He was my second task as enforcer tonight._

_I wasn’t doing this for Freyda, although she’d ordered it. It was for the broken family watching from the observation booth._

_Without warning I took the sword and stepped towards him. He muttered a prayer as I began to execute a graceful kata around him. I concentrated on the swish of the blade as it cut through the air, and remembered to slow as the sword dragged through the flesh so the heat would cauterise the cut surface and eke out his life a little longer._

_After an all too brief minute – he’d taken his time butchering Ralph’s woman, and she’d suffered much more – the last piece slapped wetly onto the floor, and what was left of him twitched on the chain. I ignored the yell still echoing from the hard walls and stepped in close to watch the life fade from his eyes, seeing a catatonic girl clutching a fly-covered pile of flesh on a floor of blood-soaked straw._

_There was no room for mercy with his kind. The Chosen gave supes none when their blind hatred of us allowed such brutality free rein in their name._

_I stepped away to wipe the blade, keeping tight control of myself in the blood scented room._

_A slow clapping pierced my concentration and I looked up to see Nikolai in the booth. He was applauding my sword play, grinning. The grin faded when he caught my grim expression._

_I looked to his right. Ralph and his bereaved in-laws bowed to me gratefully, and I nodded back. They left the room quickly with Jean-Luc._

_Freyda was not watching me, instead watching Nikolai with a frown, deep in thought._

_She felt my gaze and looked up. She nodded briefly, still distracted and swept out of the room. Nikolai bowed and winked, shutting the door as he left._

_I finished wiping the sword in silence, pondering what Freyda had found so troubling about Nikolai tonight, until the cleaning crew arrived to take out the trash._

…

_White walls, terrible echoing cries under the harsh lights, the smell of blood…_

Pam was calling me. I could feel her call in my blood, filling my chest as her voice rang in my ears. I woke disorientated, half falling off the couch and looked round wildly.

“You were calling out again,” she said, reaching for the little bottle.” It's time to take another dose.”

I struggled to sit up, letting her help me take a drop of the bitter potion. I grasped for the carafe and gulped the warm blood down. It tasted fresh, so the stasis spell was working. I squinted at the clock. Five a.m.

“I'm putting you to bed. You must rest.”

I shook off the memories of Oklahoma, and reclaimed the events of tonight. It took a minute, and Sookie’s scent surrounding me, for things to click back into place.

It had been hard to see her again. If Pam noticed I’d moved the cushion she was ignoring it.

“Is she in trouble?” I went for a neutral voice and damped my feelings, but I knew Pam would still sense tendrils of my concern and curiosity.

Pam sighed. “No. Not the kind you mean.”

I raised an eyebrow; it was about all I had strength for. She shook her head and grimaced faintly. “Just girl talk, Eric.”

She felt ambivalent and concerned. I thought about pushing for more, but I didn't.

I didn’t resist as she hauled me up, and steered me towards the stairs down to the safe room. The potion was kicking in, and it muddled my thoughts as it always seemed to at first, but thankfully the pain began to ebb to a dull throb.

Soon dawn would take the memories as well, and I could truly rest.


	5. Road Trip

Thalia shut Pam's front door behind us and sped to my car without waiting for me, the slow lil' ole human. I glared after her. It wasn’t like I wasn't happy about this either.

I took my time getting to the car, and then paused as I opened the driver's door. “Y'all can go back in the house, I'll be fine.”

She scowled, and stayed where she was, alternating between watching our surroundings and watching me.

I got in the car and slammed my door. Damn vampires and their ‘protecting this puny human is beneath me' attitudes. I dropped my head back on my seat and closed my eyes, blocking her out.

I rolled my neck a little. I was tense, seeing Eric again. He certainly hadn't helped that. Eric was good at hiding his reactions, but tonight his mysterious brooding in the shadows act was especially unsettling. He had been tight-lipped, literally, and I felt the awkward gulf between us keenly.

My own reaction to him was so intense that I'd been glad to snatch a minute alone just to catch my breath before he'd joined me in Pam's living room. I was so distracted it had taken me a while to appreciate how beautifully decorated the room was. I sighed and opened my eyes, catching sight of my purse on the passenger seat.

Shoot, I wasn't supposed to be thinking about Eric tonight. I had bigger problems. I scooped up the bag and pulled out my three-point plan determined to focus. I read it over:

…

_1\. Talk to Sam about Bernie. Be sensitive, but clear. He has to get her to stop interfering._

_2\. Find a counsellor for communication / anger issues / grief._

_3\. Discuss long term plans together. College. Children._

…

Right. My earlier optimism had waned, and the thought of broaching those topics with Sam was daunting. I really did need a heart to heart with a friend.

I jumped when Pam rapped on my window, interrupting me staring into the distance blankly. I hurriedly stuffed the list back in my bag feeling like a third grader caught passing notes. I rolled down the window and Pam said, “Better than your last car.” I’d bought myself a newish silver Focus last year and she hadn’t seen it before. She added firmly, “I should drive if we're having a serious discussion.”

I half-heartedly protested but she just looked at me until I gave in and clambered awkwardly across to the passenger seat. She got in and adjusted the mirrors and seat while I admired her coat. It was navy blue, tailored and fur-trimmed. Vintage probably. Very glamorous. I remembered to compliment her on her home décor, and she remembered to thank me for the compliment.

As we drove through the suburbs, I put off the sole item on my agenda a little longer and made a nervous attempt at small talk. Unfortunately all I could think of to talk about was Eric.

“So, is Eric gonna head back to Oklahoma soon? I expect he’s got a lot to do now he's in charge.”

She gave me a look that told me I'd just said something extremely stupid. I had obviously gotten a little rusty at dealing with vampire politics. I hadn’t thought about this stuff for years. Think, Sookie. Eric seemed on edge, Freyda is dead… Sheppard of Judea, he killed her! And that explained his edginess, he's a fugitive… No, wait, that didn’t make sense. Why would he do that? He had a cushy deal. Some sort of coup then, a takeover. She got killed and he had to flee?

Pam was amused at my confusion, but finally took pity on me. “Eric cannot take a position in Oklahoma for a century.”

'Huh?”

“He was only a consort. Not a King.”

“Oh. Right.”

Yes, I think I remember someone explained that. Bill? I'd slipped into calling them ‘the Royal Couple’ in my mind so it had been easy to forget that detail and think of Eric as King to Freyda's Queen. Like matching chess pieces.

Consort was only a cushy position while Freyda was still around then. Huh, bet that was a fly in his royal jelly. I guessed Eric was pissed that she'd been killed. That explained the standoffish behaviour; he'd just lost a powerful position. He'd bounce right back though, he always did.

Pam interrupted my mental wanderings. “Actually it would be best not to mention you've seen Eric. Even to Bill.”

“Oh, sure. I'm not going to tell anyone.” In fact I didn't see any vampires to tell these days. Even Bill. I realised with a jolt that Pam didn't know that.

It struck me that I didn't have a clue what was going on in Pam's life either. I hadn’t asked her about herself when we’d got back in touch. Before that, I had completely cut her out of my life for two years. Now that might not be more than a blink for a vampire, but we had been close. We'd fought together, that counted as a bonding experience to Pam, I was sure.

And here I was, relying on her to be there for me when I needed her at the drop of a hat, when I was the shitty friend who’d pretty much disappeared on her for a couple of years. If I was her I'd throw me out of my own car.

I felt terrible. I had to put that right.

“Pam, I know we haven’t been close recently and I'm truly sorry about that. Is everything alright with you? How is being Sheriff?” I wondered if having Eric in her area would cause her any trouble, but I kept that to myself.

She turned to look at my face for a few seconds, and I saw the twitch of a smile in the glow from the dashboard.

“Yes, things have been … different between us in the last few years. I did not want that. I have been quite busy this year and I regret that has kept me from spending more time with you.” For Pam, that was practically gushing. Then she changed the topic deftly. “But you didn't come to my house on Thanksgiving to talk about me. Cut to the chase, Sookie.”

I suddenly felt awkward. This was not easy to talk about. She waited patiently while I searched for a starting point.

“I need a sounding board. I have, um, a dilemma. A personal dilemma and you seemed like the best person for honest advice.”

“I see,” she said, trying not to sound too pleased at that. Oh dear, I had really hurt her feelings by neglecting our friendship. “Would this have anything to do with your husband?”

I gaped at her. How had she worked that out?

She raised an eyebrow, and drily pointed out, “You are not at home slaving away over a dead bird in a hot oven.” Oh, yeah. That was a big clue.

“Sam is in Texas. At his mother’s house,” I said, trying not to sound bitter.

“Problems with the in-laws? That is common, is it not?”

I sighed. “Yes. It’s mostly just Bernie though.” I suddenly wondered if I’d even mentioned Bernie to her, and clarified, “Bernie is his mom. She’s very protective of him and basically she doesn’t approve of me so much these days.” If she ever did, I thought darkly.

“I see. And does the shif– Sam care what she thinks of you?”

Well, that was the sixty four thousand dollar question. “They have a close relationship, what with him being her first and a shifter like her. So of course he cares. But he’s my husband and his loyalty is with me.” Probably, I added to myself. “It’s just one more thing on top of everything else right now. She sticks her nose in my business and her attitude is driving me crazy. She makes me feel like I’m not good enough for him and I am. I don’t care what she thinks, I can make him happy. I will make him happy,” I said fiercely.

She thought about that for a minute as she pulled onto the interstate. Then, picking her words carefully she said, “I have observed that changing yourself to make someone else happy usually results in misery all round.”

“What? What do you mean? I haven’t changed myself for Sam!”

“I nearly didn’t recognise you that first time we met in Monroe – the cowboy boots, the plaid shirts, all that denim.” She gestured at my feet. I was indeed sporting cowboy boots, but so what? They were practical and hard wearing.

“Pam, my clothes aren’t important. Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Clothes are an unconscious projection of how we think of ourselves Sookie, and yours say you are willing to change yourself to fit in with Sam and his family. But that is just an outward example. From our chats, your life now revolves around Sam. You talk about supporting him, his businesses and his status in Bon Temps. Which is fine if that’s all you want for yourself. Is it?”

What did Pam know about marriage anyway, I was just doing what any good wife should: a wife supported her husband. I was furious with her. Until she asked what I wanted for myself and I suddenly pictured those college brochures that I’d thrown away. I bit back the retort bubbling on my tongue, and deflated.

She eyed me curiously. “You are not one to lose your identity in another, Sookie.”

“I … well, we’re married. It’s different.”

She scowled and said stiffly, “I see.” After a moment she untwisted her panties and added, “And is that why you haven’t put this Bernie in her place?”

“No good comes from getting between a man and his mother, Pam. That’s more trouble than a bag full of snakes.”

“Especially if she’s a shifter,” she said straight faced and I stifled a laugh. Yep, I just imagined a rattlesnake with Bernie’s face. “So Sookie, why exactly does this bitch think you’re not good enough for her son?”

Oh. The big bad. I took a deep breath and started slowly, “Well, she’s uneasy about the mind reading, but everybody is. She’s none too happy about y’know, my past with y’all. Or that I’m part fairy and she thinks that gives me some sort of hold over Sam. But I think she could forgive all that if I could give Sam what she wants him to have.”

“Ah. You cannot give him a shifter child. True shifters are rare, continuing her line will be important to her.”

My eyes filled, and a hard lump formed in my throat.

“It's more than that,” I managed to force out. “I might not … we might not ... I lost …”

I gasped as hot tears began to fall and then sobbed in earnest. Harsh sounds filled the car and Pam looked at me in alarm. When it was clear I couldn't stop myself, she pulled off the interstate. She reached in front of me and rooted around in the glove compartment, eventually pulling out a packet of tissues. She handed them to me and patted my arm awkwardly a few times. Then she just waited for me to get a hold of myself and explain.

Pam was surprisingly sympathetic while I talked, even though I knew she had never wanted to raise kids herself. She might not understand the desire, but she was a good enough friend to support me because she knew it was what I wanted, even if she didn’t feel the same way. I felt even worse about turning my back on her for so long.

In a husky voice I told her about the three miscarriages I'd had so far. Possibly four if I counted the little accident we had on our 'honeymoon' weekend – Sam had been annoyingly laid back about that torn condom even when I had been a day or two late. I'd had unusually strong cramps that month too, but I'd dismissed it at the time.

When I finished my sad tale, she pulled out her phone. “You need to see Ludwig,” she said, beginning to dial.

“Wait!” I put my hand on her arm. “I already did.”

She stopped dialling and pocketed her phone again. “What did the good doctor say?”

I sniffled. “That's the problem. Sam thought that it was his being a shifter at first, not that he told me that. But it isn't that. I thought maybe it was all the injuries and vampire blood interfering somehow.” I remembered I'd taken Pam's blood and hoped she didn't think I was accusing her of anything. It had worn off by this January though, because the first time we met in Monroe she had to phone to find out where I was in the mall. And I'd thought to ask her then, to be sure.

“I have not heard of that as a side effect of our blood,” she said thoughtfully.

“Oh no, Ludwig confirmed it can't do that,” I said hurriedly. “She actually seemed at a loss. She was going to ask around, but she thought …” I swallowed. “She thought I might be rejecting the pregnancies because of the little bit of fairy I have in me.”

“Then that is something you cannot help,” Pam said gently.

“I know. I know that up here,” I said, touching my temple. “But I still feel like it’s my fault. And Sam does too – oh, he tries to hide it but I can read it from his feelings, even his thoughts sometimes. He's running around asking about V trying to pin the blame somewhere else, but deep down he knows it's me.”

“And you don't know how he will take it when he finally has to face up to that.”

“No.” My voice hitched as I said, “Pam, I'm scared he might leave me if I can't give him children.”

Pam looked away and said quietly, “Yes, that is a deal breaker for some.”

I abruptly realised Pam might have first-hand experience of that flavour of rejection. Although she preferred women these days, so it had to have been a while ago. Miriam hadn’t had a problem with it, and I realised with surprise that we’d never had a chance to talk properly about her death. Another black mark against me in the bad friend column.

She examined me carefully. She must have decided the worst of my ‘leaking’ was over because she pulled back onto the road.

After a pause, she said in a stronger voice, “But there are ways around that now aren't there? Would the shif– Sam be content with adoption?”

“Um, I'm not sure. I suppose we could have a shifter child that way.” I thought about it while the night flashed past. What I'd read from him was a longing for _me_ to have _his_ child. He definitely wouldn't go for me carrying another man's child, even if it got there artificially. He was too territorial. I tried not to get upset all over again that even that might not be an option for me with my traitorous fairy genes. He would be really disappointed if I couldn't have his biological child, but he might go for adoption. Then I thought about the fights we'd been having and sighed.

“It's not just that Pam. Losing those ba– pregnancies put our relationship under a lot of strain. We've been arguing a lot and we–”

“Has he hurt you?” Pam interrupted.

“What? No! Why does everybody assume that?”

She side-eyed me. “I've known a lot of weres and shifters. Their relationships can be volatile and their arguments often get physical. It's part of their nature. They are passionate. It can be … an attraction at first.”

My eyes widened. Did she mean what I thought she meant?

She grinned at me. “I was young. I wanted to experience everything.”

I was shocked. “Does Eric know?” I couldn't imagine he'd tolerate his child running with the wild things.

She laughed. “Yes. It was while we were apart, the first time. He wasn't thrilled, but he has never interfered in my choice of bed partner. He's not that sort of Maker. It did make it more entertaining teasing him about you and the wolf.”

“Oh.” We sat quietly for a minute while I adjusted my ideas about my friend.

“So, how long have these arguments been happening?” she asked.

I winced. “About a year or so.”

“And they are about offspring?”

“Oh, no. Not exactly. Sam doesn't like to see me so distraught after I … y'know. He wants to talk about it, wants me to go out and socialise, and I just want to grieve alone. I guess we just handle things differently. He doesn't get that so we fight about it.”

“And that's all you fight about?”

“Well, no. We've had some doozies about stupid stuff too. He was spitting tacks after I went out and bought this car without talking to him first.” I stopped. Was it disloyal to tell her that? I hadn't told anyone about it, but it was such a relief to get it out I didn’t want to stop.

I pressed on. “He said big purchases like that should be joint decisions. It was my money though. And he makes decisions for the bar without me, but that's OK with me because it's his bar and he owns more of it than me. Heck, it really chaps his ass that I have my own money and I won't sink it all into Merlotte's or the duplexes.” I stopped to take a breath in and blew out air in frustration.

“So he doesn't like you having your own money and resents it when you make decisions on your own,” she said with a raised an eyebrow. That did sound a little … controlling.

“It's not as bad as it sounds,” I protested. ”He just feels left out when I don't include him in things.” Oh no, that made him sound childish instead.

She gave me a shrewd look and asked, “Does he know that you have been meeting with me?”

I blushed. “It hasn't come up.” Like my fairy side possibly causing the miscarriages hadn't come up yet, I thought guiltily.

“So you keep secrets.”

I said defensively, “He doesn't tell me everything either. He never talks about shifter stuff. I have to drag it out of him or phone my friend Luna.”

“You both keep secrets.”

“I think we've both spent so long hiding a big part of ourselves from everybody that we don't know how to stop. I think we might need help to fix that. Know any good therapists who won’t freak out dealing with a shifter and a telepath?” I tried to make it a joke.

“Ludwig might.” She thought for a moment. “You have problems trusting each other. Does your telepathy not help with that?”

I grimaced. “Not really. He used to send me thoughts for fun, silly stuff, but lately… It's my fault. I know how intrusive it is for people close to me so I try not to pry. Stay out of their heads. And I kinda downplayed how much I could read him when we first got together because I know he values his privacy.”

“Because he is secretive by nature.”

I nodded remembering the way he slammed his mind shut that first time he invited me into his head, before I even knew what he was. I'd gone from feeling welcomed to feeling shut out instantly, like he’d slammed a door in my face. I'd known right then he would never be totally comfortable with my quirk.

“I didn't think he'd want to be with me if he knew how much I could hear. Now when we're fighting, when he’s upset, I can't help but read a thought or two. And when I react he resents it, hates it. It makes everything worse.” It always had.

“You don't like what you hear.”

“No, not anymore.”

I was back two months ago then, back to that hot September night at Merlotte's.

I'd stopped in the corridor to pin up the staff roster and glanced into the bar. There had been a pretty young brunette leaning across the bar top, giggling and making eyes at Sam. The snarl of her thoughts had given away her nature, and not much else. But by dropping my shields I'd felt Sam's mind too and it was warm with lust. My involuntary step forward broke their little bubble and he looked up to catch the full force of my glare. He'd slammed his mind shut but not before I felt his guilt.

I'd buried that little incident, and tried to will away the niggle of doubt it planted. I tried not to remember what he'd told me about the maenad's call, the call of the wild he couldn't resist. Tried to ignore that the girl was a shifter, just like Bernie wanted.

I turned away from Pam to stare out into the night until we arrived at the Bon Temps exit.

When I turned back, Pam was watching me. “How bad are the fights?” she asked quietly.

I reassured her. “Things have been better the last few months. I walk away now, before things get out of hand. Dr Ludwig said avoiding stress would help.”

She raised an eyebrow again. “So the shifter knows this, and yet you're the one walking away. Next you'll be saying it's alright because he says sorry.”

“Well, he does. And he means it, I can tell.” I tapped my forehead.

“Sookie, they always mean it. If he wants a child with you, why isn't he the one walking away?”

“I… I guess I just push his buttons. I've almost pushed him to shift a few times when we’re fighting.” She hissed in alarm and I rushed out, “No, no, that hasn't happened in a while, not since I realised how stupid I was being.”

She shook her head.

“He can't help what he is, Pam. He's never raised a hand to me, which is more than I can say – I've slapped him plenty.”

'I see,” she said tightly.

She turned her attention to the road, and didn't speak for a while.

“I never wanted the things you want, Sookie. I saw my mother made miserable by a bad marriage, exhausted by childbirth. I didn't want that, but I know many women do. You do. Sam isn't the only man in the world. You have to decide if what you have with him is worth all this drama. Don't cling to a poor marriage because society, your religion, other women who want you to be as miserable as them, all keep telling you that a good wife should put up with unhappiness to stand by her husband, however ill-fitting the match. It’s your life, not theirs. Make the right choice for you, not them. Do what will make _you_ happy.”

“Now,” she said as we turned into Hummingbird Lane, “how is your human friend Tara? Has her stripper husband strayed yet, or has she lost that baby weight and rekindled his passion?”

I laughed. That was Pam, blunt as ever. We gossiped for a few minutes until she pulled up outside the house. We both got out and she walked me to my door. I fiddled with my keys after I’d unlocked it.

“Are you waiting for a kiss?” she said with a wink.

I grinned and then sobered. “Pam, thank you. I needed your honesty tonight. You've given me plenty to think on.”

“Good. Think about yourself for once my friend, not everybody else in this podunk town.”

“I will.” As she turned to go, I looked at Sam's old boots next to the door and wondered if I had changed more than my style. I had a sudden thought. “Pam, you don't think I stopped seeing you because I was with Sam, do you? You know I’d never let a man keep me from my friends.”

She turned back and I couldn’t decipher her face. She smiled faintly and shook her head. “No, that was never about Sam.” Then she disappeared in a blur.

…

I sat up for a little while, chewing over the conversation with Pam. Surprisingly, I didn’t toss and turn when I got into bed and I slept late that Friday.

It was overcast and I woke refreshed. I dawdled round the kitchen, making myself a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches for brunch. I looked in the fridge with a sigh. There was just enough left for today and tomorrow, but none of it was particularly appetising.

I still hadn’t heard from my errant husband, but I was much calmer about that today. We really had needed some space from each other, and I hoped he had done as much thinking as I had. He might be back tomorrow, or on Sunday if he decided to stay another day and go to church there.

I could spend another day fussing about my marriage. Instead I decided I’d done enough fussing and the next step had to be a long serious talk with Sam. That had to wait until he came home and so I would take today for myself.

I felt like a Black Friday shopping trip to Shreveport even if I had missed the early bird bargains. It would be busy and I could get lost in the crowds, or I could go to a couple of the smaller strip malls that would be quieter. I could stop for a nice meal somewhere, maybe that Italian place.

Before I got ready to go, I phoned Dr Ludwig on the non-emergency number she’d given me when she’d come to the house to check on me after our recent loss. I didn’t want to say I was looking for a marriage therapist in a message anyone might pick up, so I just asked for her to call me back the following week.

I changed into jeans and a cute pale blue cashmere sweater, and I was just pulling on my favourite brown boots in defiance of Pam’s comments when the phone rang. Thinking it might be Dr Ludwig, I tripped over my feet getting to the kitchen, only to hear Tara’s voice leaving a message.

“Hi Sam n’ Sook, guess you’re not back from Texas yet.” I could hear the shop bell in the background. “I’m stuck at the store today, so give me a call when you get back and we’ll get together over the weekend. Chin up, Sook. Love ya.”

I looked at the phone for a minute. No, I was not calling her. She needed to work, and I didn’t think I could take her running over here and telling me what a fool I was for running a good, kind, decent man like Sam out of town. And that was what she’d say. I could just hear her telling me what a catch he was, with his own business and all, how I could do so much worse, while she thought of all of JB’s faults.

She should try being married to Sam, and then she wouldn’t think he was so perfect. I snickered at that. She sang Sam’s praises so much I might be jealous if I didn’t know that he was totally not her type. Pam was right though, Tara was invested in my marriage more for her sake than mine. If I stayed with Sam, we’d be comrades in arms moaning about our husbands and encouraging each other to stick it out through the rough patches. Well, this was a hell of a rough patch and I wasn’t sticking it out just so Tara would have someone to commiserate with when she was pissed at JB.

On that note, I grabbed my coat, handbag and keys, and headed out.

…

Bon Temps was quiet thankfully, nobody to spot my car and wonder why I was home alone and not in Texas with Sam. I put the radio on full blast once I got to the interstate and sang away to my heart’s content. As I got closer to Shreveport traffic got heavier but it was still flowing.

There was a state trooper cruising the interstate a couple of cars back from me, but I thought nothing of it. I took my exit and headed for one of the smaller strip malls that had a really nice boutique dress shop. I felt like looking at pretty things.

I pulled into the lot and leant over to pick my purse up from the passenger seat, vaguely aware of a car pulling up alongside me. A loud rap on the window startled me as I was opening my purse to check my phone and I jumped, dropping it and scattering its contents on the floor.

I looked up to find my window filled with the smart blue uniform of a state trooper, buttons gleaming, and I glimpsed his patrol car behind him. He was indicating my door lock. With one hand on my chest over my pounding heart, I fumble the door open saying in my most polite Southern voice, “Officer, I’m real sorry I didn’t see you there. You just gosh darn scared the life out of me. What can I do for you?”

“Mrs Merlotte?” He pulled the door wider and stepped into the space bracing himself on the car roof. Two women passing by slowed to eavesdrop.

“Yes, that’s me,” I said cheerfully, and reached out mentally. He was thinking of me, of a message he had to give me, an accident, a crumpled car. Sam! My hand clutched my chest again. No, no, it wasn’t a truck, he went in his truck.

“…accident, out near Baton Rouge. You related to a Hunter Savoy ma’am?”

“Oh no,” I said faintly. The women made sympathetic noises and carried on towards the storefront.

“Ma’am, I need you to come with me.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Then he moved back slightly and I looked up into the shadow under the rim of his hat to meet a pair of eyes I hadn’t expected to see again. Before I could react he sent a strong thought to me. _Don’t say anything. Act normal._

I blinked at him in surprise. I had a bad feeling about this. “Just let me pick up my things, Officer.”

I looked around quickly. There were half a dozen cars in the lot, but the only people around were the two women disappearing into the dress shop _._

_Leave the phone._

“Hell no,” I hissed, and glared at him. I was right, something was very wrong here. Then he sent me an image of a damp, dark basement, and a boy tied up on a filthy mattress on the floor. The boy rolled over and I saw a flash of Hunter’s face _. If you want to see him again, do exactly what I say._

Oh my God. He had Hunter. That poor baby. Where was he keeping him? I tried to get a good read on the trooper, but his thoughts were on me.

 _Do exactly what I say. Now!_ I saw Hunter in his mind again, looking scared. He was in cleaner clothes, outside Remy’s house, but that was all I could gather before the trooper thought about just pulling me out of the car.

I swallowed. Shit. I needed to co-operate so I could stay with him and find out where Hunter was. Once I knew that, I could concentrate on getting away.

He reached down impatiently and knocked my phone under my seat. I tried to pick up the rest of my things as slowly as possible, hoping more witnesses would arrive. What I was going to do if they did, and who was going to intervene for me against a state trooper, I didn’t know.

He had Hunter. I had to go with him, had to do this. I couldn’t panic. Hunter was relying on me.

He opened his car door for me, protecting my head as I got into his car, my legs shaky and my mind racing. He came around the hood, watching me, and got in. He was repeating some regulation or other over and over to himself so I couldn’t pick out anything else.

“Put your seat belt on.”

I glared at him again and muttered “How could you do that to a child?” As I turned to grab the belt I felt a sudden sting in my leg. “Ouch, what the hell was that?” He was slipping something back into his pocket.

“Just something to make you more co-operative.” He pulled the belt across for me and clicked it in to the buckle. _Don’t make a fuss._ He tipped his hat to an older lady coming out of the end store, and then pulled the patrol car out of the lot.

I glared a hole in the side of his face for a good few minutes. “Where are you taking me?”

He laughed. “A parking garage.” Then he began repeating multiplication tables in his head.

I began to feel a little drowsy, but I tried desperately to force my way into his mind, mumbling Hunter’s name, talking about him to spark a thought, but his mind was like a machine: cold, hard, unfeeling and repeating number after number. I couldn’t get anything.

Suddenly he cursed, and I got an image of the rear-view mirror from him. He was sure that a black truck a few cars back was following us. I twisted in my seat a little, but felt nauseous when I turned my head too quickly. I sent out my extra sense, but I couldn’t focus and all I could hear was a cacophony of snippets about the sales, the traffic, and the weather. No-one seemed to be paying attention to us.

Great, my captor was paranoid as well as a lunatic who kidnapped women and children.

He made a turn at the last minute, and then several more in quick succession until he was convinced he’d lost the truck. He was concentrating on driving and it was getting hard to focus on his mind as whatever the heck he’d injected into my leg took hold.

I was still aware enough to notice when we turned into a run-down district of abandon warehouses. He pulled into an unlit garbage-strewn parking garage, and parked in a dark corner next to the only other car, an older black Ford Explorer with tinted rear windows.

By now I was really woozy, but I was waiting for my chance. He had this planned to the last detail, and it was proving impossible to find Hunter in his head when mine was full of cotton candy. Voices were whispering in my ear, voices that advised women to fight, to do anything to stop a kidnapper taking them to a second crime scene if they wanted to survive. I should have been petrified but the drug was working against that. But I had enough of my wits left to realise I was no good to Hunter if I was imprisoned too. If I escaped now I could raise the alarm.

As he turned to get out of the car, I fumbled desperately with the latch on my door. It opened and I staggered out of the car, but before I could get two steps something snapped around my wrist and I was spun around. I heard a click as he snapped the other handcuff shut.

Great. At least my hands were cuffed in front of me.

He shoved me towards the other car, got the rear door open as I struggled weakly and practically threw me into the back. He slammed the door shut. I pulled myself back over to it, feeling like I was moving through treacle. Damn, it wouldn’t open from inside.

My sight was fading in and out, and I couldn’t move properly. He was pulling clothes out of an open holdall he’d set on the front seat, standing outside the car so he could change rapidly out of the trooper uniform. I fell back on the back seat with a groan. Once he was done changing, he grabbed the discarded uniform and I could hear him go back to the patrol car, then a car door slammed, and his footsteps came back towards me.

Shit. I lay there fighting to stay conscious. No-one knew I was in Shreveport.

Sam wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. Even once he realised I was missing, he wouldn’t know where I’d gone.

It could take days for anyone to start looking, let alone find me. Pam couldn’t even track me anymore.

  
  



	6. Working for The Man

The drug let go of me one piece at a time. The sensations weren’t pleasant. My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth and it tasted vile. My neck and arms were painfully stiff, and my head throbbed.

I was slumped in a chair. Moving cautiously I discovered my legs were tied together and my hands were still cuffed. I groaned as I opened my eyes and lifted my head to look around.

I was at the back of a residential garage. To my right, the black Explorer that had transported me here and a battered red pickup were parked side by side, the garage door shut tight behind them. On my left, a workbench stretched the length of the back wall. My hands itched for one of the tools on it. Too far away. In front of me, up a step, was a single door, probably leading into the main house. Dim amber light filtered in through a small slatted window high above the workbench. Judging by the light it was close to dusk.

I could smell metal, oil and food. There were Chinese takeout boxes on the bench amongst the scattered tools.

My stomach rumbled.

I reached out mentally and found the garage was isolated, no minds in the immediate area. Except for the one belonging to the smiling asshole sitting on the chair in front of me. I’d been ignoring him.

“I thought we'd eat while I get you up to speed.” Tom Lattesta gestured at the food. “Takeout alright with you?”

“Fuck you. Where's Hunter?”

“Not here. And I suggest you eat.” He was picturing that awful dark basement.

I glared at him, while he opened a bottle of water and held it out. I glared for a few more seconds then took it. No point in being weak for whatever was coming. I drank half of it down while he opened one of the food boxes and stuck a plastic fork in it. He took the bottle back, passed me the food and watched as I struggled to eat it with the cuffs on. I managed by wedging the box between my knees and bending over it. He took a box for himself and began to talk between mouthfuls.

“So Mrs Merlotte, you’re here to help with an investigation.” _An image of a small home office with neat colour-coded files filling two sets of shelves._

“Really? And you thought kidnapping me and Hunter was the way to get my cooperation?” I said indignantly. A home office, interesting. I prodded, “Doesn’t the FBI have enough resources without little old me?”

He ignored my question, but I got a flash of an argument with an older man in a suit, who was saying: _'Take a month’s leave before you do something stupid.'_ Oh, just dandy. He was working alone. No-one to rein in his crazy.

“As you know, being married to one of them, hate crimes against twoeys in the South have been a problem for the last few years,” he said in a neutral voice. I picked up flashes: _hate-filled graffiti somewhere urban, a car splashed with paint, a burnt-out store, a man battered until his face was unrecognisable._ Lattesta was emotionally detached from the images and I couldn’t tell if that was necessary distancing to survive the job or if he really didn’t give two figs for the victims.

“Texas is a hot bed of extremist activity and the Bureau is very keen to get it cleaned up. So keen they set up a special task force.” He stopped to chew a few mouthfuls and I pushed into his head.

Finally I got something: we were in east Texas.

And less usefully, Lattesta still resented me because I had friends in high places. (A fairy prince no less, not that he knew fairies existed, much less anything about Niall.) Lattesta had counted on climbing the career ladder with proof of my ability, and when the whole investigation into me was quashed it put a damper on his plans. He hated ‘politics’ interfering with the FBI like that. It offended his principles.

But he was a big fat hypocrite. When powerful people on Capitol Hill wanted to curtail the attacks on the two-natured, he hadn’t been above volunteering for the task force sent to Texas just to cosy up to those influential political masters. Not because people were getting hurt.

“We had a good handle on the extremists associated with the Fellowship, and we were monitoring the major players. Then one of them was slaughtered right under our noses.”

I saw what he’d seen.

_A dark night, a mutilated corpse hanging upside down from a tree, illuminated by the lazy sweep of headlights as a patrol car pulled up, a swarm of FBI agents with torches combing the woods for evidence._

_Merlotte’s lot, sun shining on Crystal’s half-transformed crucified body._

I felt sick as I realised that he had deliberately shown me that to connect the two murders.

“It was an _inhuman_ way for a man to die. For your sister-in-law too. That’s how these animals deliver justice isn’t it? And you let humans take the blame for her death.” His voice was even, his mind tightly controlled, but I could feel his anger at what he saw as injustice.

In a way he was right, but Whit and Arlene had planned awful things for me so I refused to feel guilty about what happened to them. The real culprits, Mel and the evil fairy duo, ultimately met far worse comeuppances than anything human courts would dish out. It was harsh and merciless, not the cold, logical and precise system of his perfect world, but justice _was_ done. Lattesta just didn't know that.

In a moment of clarity I realised something fundamental about Lattesta.

His mind was ordered, his office was ordered, because he needed order, craved it. His FBI work was part of that need to impose order on a chaotic world, by punishing criminals he saw as aberrations from the norm. He was a hop, skip and a jump from the Fellowship with that reasoning.

The emergence of vamps and twoeys into the public arena had rocked his narrow world. But there had to be something else, something recent, that had pushed him to kidnapping and breaking the laws he valued.

“Those animals were responsible. Twoeys murdered that suspect in retaliation for the fire in Houston.”

I flinched, connecting the dots. A family of Weres, non-shifting children included, had been killed in a horrific house fire in Houston about a year and a half ago; it had been all over the news. It had been declared an accident officially, faulty wiring, but Sam’s shifter contacts believed it was the Fellowship and we had worried trouble would flare up, spread to Louisiana.

It hadn't, at least Sam hadn’t heard of anything that awful since, only petty property damage and harassment. I wondered if the FBI had had a hand in preventing further violence, or if the gruesome murder of one of the Fellowship’s own had more to do with it.

“We had surveillance on the suspect. At the time he was snatched from his home our instruments went offline. No evidence, only static. Eventually we got wind of a twoey vigilante group – they call themselves Tooth ‘n Claw – who we believe were responsible. We've been investigating them for six months.”

He took a few bites, and continued, “We need proof they carried out that execution and other acts of retaliation against the Fellowship so we can bring them in and prevent further atrocities. We’ve lost two good agents trying to infiltrate them.”

_A funeral, a grieving family, children crying._ He was playing for sympathy; I hardened my heart.

“And what’s that got to do with me?” I said coldly.

He put his empty box down and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, watching me through narrowed eyes. “You think it’s got nothing to do with you?”

“Yes,” I snapped. “I live in another state. I run a bar with my husband. We help our local food bank, look out for our community and we go to church. Neither of us is involved in politics, human or otherwise. We just want to be left in peace.”

“You married a twoey!” he spat. “This has everything to do with you!”

I provoked him, hoping his mind would open to me if he got agitated. “So what! He didn’t kill that guy. He's not part of some crazy vigilante group. He’s a good decent man. And yes, I said _man_. He’s human most of the time goddammit!”

He snorted, “He’s about as human as you are!”

“I am human!” Finding out fairies existed would push Tom Lattesta right off the narrow-minded ledge he was teetering on.

“Oh, I don’t think so. Oh no, you all think you’re so clever, but I know. I know there’s more kinds of you - you _things_ out there. Pretending to be just like us, hiding what you are, sneaking in the shadows, thinking you’re outside the law …”

As he sneered and began to rant, I tuned out his words and concentrated on his thoughts. Nothing about Hunter: Lattesta was all about his career underneath the surface hatred.

That convenient surveillance failure had irritated him. Once the team had identified some of the twoey vigilantes, wire taps and bugs on them found nothing. Lattesta had been convinced they’d been warned or there was something interfering with the devices.

On stake out at a Houston bar frequented by the few of the vigilantes, he’d noticed a woman discreetly meeting one of the twoeys there late one night. So discreetly he was suspicious. He took it upon himself to investigate her.

She only turned up occasionally at the bar, he suspected just to contact the vigilantes. It was hardly local for her. She worked part-time at a small bookshop in a town hours away from Houston, but she had a nice house and car. He was convinced she had hidden sources of income.

I’d put money on her being a witch, but to Lattesta all that mattered was she was helping the vigilantes somehow. He just knew she had to be a supe of some sort, maybe something like me, maybe a psychic if she was the one keeping them a step ahead of the FBI.

He’d become obsessed with her, convinced she was the key to getting the proof they needed, but his team leader wanted him to stick with the programme and concentrate on the twoeys. Lattesta began watching her himself, convinced he could crack the case and all with the bonus of identifying a new type of supe. He would be the hero and it would give him the career break he needed. He burnt the candle at both ends, and soon enough his work suffered, he began behaving erratically and he was ordered to take a month off.

As I delved, I found out why he was so desperate for promotion. Being based in Texas for three years, putting in a lot of overtime and dealing with violent crime had put a huge strain on his marriage. He was in the middle of a very messy divorce and a traumatic custody battle that he was likely to lose unless he could afford the care his son needed while he worked full-time. His life was unravelling around him, and he was holding fast to the hope that this woman was the thread that could tie it all back together.

I saw how much he loved his son, how he wanted to raise him because his wife couldn’t deal with his son's autism. I ignored the sympathy I felt for him over that. He was a man on a slippery descent into his own personal hell, and I’d be damned if I was going to let him take Hunter and me with him. He was stretched taut, close to snapping: one shock could break his last link to sanity. Finding out witches existed might do it.

“… … so superior, think you got away with it, passing for human all these years. Well, you want to be one of us so much you can damn well work for our side! You will help me or you’ll be sorry!” Spittle flew as he yelled, and he jumped out of his seat towards me.

I froze, still and quiet. I didn’t think he would hit me, but the level of frustration coming off him was incredible and he was thinking that the ends justified any means; he’d do this for his son.

A cold chill spread over me and I began to worry in earnest for Hunter.

He was nowhere nearby. He must be alone and scared. Did Lattesta leave him enough water, enough food? Was he cold? Oh God, Lattesta must’ve done something to Remy too. No way would he stand by and let Hunter be kidnapped, and I was sure I would have heard from Remy if Hunter went missing. Maybe he’d taken Remy too. I shut my eyes and prayed Remy wasn’t injured or worse.

Breathing heavily, Lattesta retook his chair. He looked straight at me, and I saw several clear images of Hunter playing in his garden, and then one of the dark basement. “No-one but me knows where that cellar is. Now, are you going to co-operate? Co-operate and the boy will be safe, and tomorrow I will let you go.”

…

It was almost ten o’clock when Lattesta parked the battered pickup. He planned to arrive when the place was already full so we’d be less conspicuous.

Lattesta had created a false identity to rent the old house with the garage where I’d woken up, and the pickup was part of it. I reminded myself again to call him Jack, Jack Thomas. And I was Sarah, Sarah White. I was surprised at how natural he looked in flannel and denim, topped off with a battered baseball cap. He was chewing gum for good measure.

My skin prickled under the outfit Lattesta had provided. Apparently Sarah White favoured the ‘dumb blonde’ look, and that was how he expected me to play her. I fidgeted with the low-cut red top I was wearing under a fringed suede jacket. The neckline was barely the right side of decent, and I itched to tug it up. I felt uncomfortably exposed, and idiotically self-conscious that the jeans didn’t fit quite right. Heck, I had far bigger problems and it wasn’t like anyone knew me here. I told myself to get a grip.

The outfit was a tasteless Texan cliché. Pam would not approve I thought wryly, and silently wished she was here. I’d feel a lot safer.

At least this wasn’t the bar in Houston, where Tooth ‘n Claw were based. Even Lattesta wasn’t insane enough to infiltrate that one without backup.

No, this dive bar was in the local town Tyler, about twenty minutes from the isolated house the fictitious Jack Thomas had rented. Tyler was just south of the I20, about an hour and a half west of Shreveport. The ‘primary target’, Daisy Riverstone, lived nearby and the bookshop she worked at was in Tyler. And she hung out at this bar, Smoky Pete’s.

I had tried to convince Lattesta it was a bad idea to just walk into a bar frequented by weres, shifters and mysterious women. (I refused to give even a hint that she might be a witch; no need to light that powder keg just yet.)

Lattesta insisted we had to do this. He hadn’t had any trouble so far at this place because 'Jack' was a quiet man who nursed his beer and didn’t bother anyone. Consequently he also hadn’t found out much of anything, except that Daisy had a boyfriend who was a twoey of some kind. Lattesta said he had a nose for detecting them. I’d snorted at that: any twoey worth their salt would smell Lattesta’s bullshit a mile off. He’d given me an odd look but didn’t comment. I sure hoped the FBI knew twoeys had heightened senses by now, and Lattesta had some clue what he was getting us into.

My ‘mission’ tonight was twofold. First, Lattesta would point out people he wanted me to identify: names and if they were human or not. He'd take it from there. Second, he wanted any information I could get about Daisy, what she was, what she did for Tooth ‘n Claw, how to stop her helping them, as much detail as possible. Then if he was satisfied, he’d let me go.

He seemed to be genuine about letting Hunter go as well, but I didn't trust him at this point. I knew darn well if I was too useful he'd want me to stay one more night, find out one more thing and that would snowball. I'd always been petrified I'd lose control of my life if the FBI or the police, or in this case a lone lunatic, decided I was too valuable.

I wouldn’t sell this Daisy out either. Whilst it sounded like Tooth ‘n Claw were taking revenge on the Fellowship a step too far, it wasn’t my fight. I didn’t know how this Daisy was involved, or why. I was sure someone at the FBI had discovered witches by now, but that didn’t mean it was a good idea for Lattesta to do the same. Lord only knew what he’d do with that information.

I would bluff my way out of giving him what he wanted; I'd already warned him I didn't get much from supes, twoeys especially. It didn’t sit well with me to help the man at all, whatever Daisy Riverstone had done; he was a close-minded bigot and he’d kidnapped Hunter. I resolved to give him no more than a few crumbs.

He came round the truck to help me out and put his arm in mine as we walked towards the bar. Even with the contact, he was so focused on playing Jack that his mind was shut tighter than a steel trap. Still no luck locating Hunter.

Inside, he chose a quiet table and fetched drinks from the bar. We pretended to chat and I sipped my beer slowly. Not a place to order gin and tonic. It was badly lit except for a few flickering neon signs and noisy – the jukebox, a couple of pool games and half-yelled conversations all blending together. The wooden floor had a few ominous stains.

Lattesta’s first instruction came quickly: _The guy behind the bar._

The bartender was tall, with broad shoulders and a wide coppery brown face, crowned with a close-cropped mat of black hair. I played with the cell phone Lattesta had given me and, as if we were flirting, coyly showed him the screen: **Pete Winchester.**

I’d heard that from a customer, the bartender owned the place.

_Is he human?_

I could tell Lattesta already knew. He was testing me. Good. Relieved I wasn’t outing someone I typed **w** for were. That seemed to satisfy him.

I gave him a few more names over the next half an hour. The bartender and the bus-boy, who was his son, were both weres and so were about a half a dozen of the clientèle. By the time our quarry arrived I had relaxed a little, but Lattesta was still on high alert.

_Don't look at the door; keep your eyes on me. She's here._ I had to admire his ability to fake calm while his thoughts hummed, betraying his anticipation. _O_ _kay_ _, at your 10 o'clock. You can look now – they have their backs to us._

Daisy was middle aged, with coffee-coloured skin, dressed in jeans and a battered leather jacket. Her hair was long, streaked with grey and bound in a single thick braid that reached her waist. She was laughing with Pete, and turned a little so I could see her profile. She would have been charitably described as homely from her face, but physically she was tall and lithe, moving with the grace of a dancer. She carried herself proudly.

Her boyfriend was huge, a slab of solid muscle. His neck was thick and his hands spades. He was a were of some sort, with dark hair and dark eyes that glinted as he turned to lean his back against the bar, surveying the room. His thoughts were the most snarled I'd ever heard. A wolf I thought.

After a tense few minutes, Lattesta gave me a nod and I reached out to Daisy's mind.

A few seconds later all hell broke loose.

…

As soon as I brushed against her mind, I knew I'd made a fatal error.

At the lightest contact, she shoved me out of her mind and her head whipped around to find the intruder.

Hallow. Hallow in Merlotte's so long ago. Why hadn't I remembered that? Hallow had felt me when I touched her mind.

Shit. I tensed to run. Lattesta picked up on that straight away and glanced over to her as her eyes locked onto me.

Time slowed while I watched a tight chain of events in crisp detail. Daisy snapped something to Pete. He ducked behind the bar briefly. An ear-splitting alarm began to wail. Daisy's lips were moving, and she flicked her hand three times towards the back where the pool tables were, fingers extended as if she was shaking off water.

Smoke began to pour from that end of the room.

Then everything sped up and happened at once. I saw Pete jump the bar. There was yelling, and panicked footfalls as people rushed towards the doors. Lattesta pulled me up and in that direction too, before I could snatch up the cell phone. Pete and his son moved at were-speed to hustle folks out safely, calling instructions loudly.

In the chaos I was grabbed from behind and pulled from Lattesta’s grip. An enormous hand covered my face blinding me. I struggled as I was dragged backwards, kicking instinctively, but a thick arm wrapped around me trapping my arms and lifted me from the floor. I was crushed hard until I deliberately went limp, hoping to fool my captor.

My ears were ringing, and the noise of feet and voices got quieter. I fought not to faint, and then the arm finally loosened. I breathed easier. The noise died away as the bar emptied. I couldn't see, but I heard a crash and a curse, and sensed Lattesta’s frustrated anger.

Just my luck, my kidnapper had been snatched too. The only person who knew I was here was trapped with me.

Eventually voices whispered in the quiet and furniture scraped on the wooden floor. I was pushed into a chair and the enormous hand finally left my face. I was not surprised to see it belonged to Daisy's fella. I blinked and looked around the empty bar. Lattesta was next to me on another chair, nursing bloody knuckles and a split lip. They’d sat us in the open area in front of the bar. The smoke had cleared. I wondered how often they used that trick and if that was how the bar got its name.

Daisy, her fella and another were with a swollen eye stood in front of us, none too pleased. Pete slipped back in through the front doors, sliding the bolt home with a loud snick. Not good. He was just as big as the guy who grabbed me, and his thoughts were strange. They were snarled like a wolf's, but slower, lazier and more powerful if that made sense. He muttered, “Told ‘em we got a faulty fan out back. Bar's closed for the night. They’re leaving.”

Three weres and a witch. I didn't like our odds.

Lattesta sent me his brilliant plan: _Remember you're Sarah, I'm Jack._ _Play dumb like I said._

Yeah, I didn't think Daisy was easy to fool and she knew what I could do.

Daisy stepped forward and squatted in front of me. She had beautiful hazel eyes and high cheek bones. “This one touched my mind. She’s not fully human.” I ignored the wave of vindication from Lattesta. “The other is.”

She stood and stepped back again, a challenge in her eyes for me.

The weres could smell Lattesta was human. So she’d said that to let me know she knew what he was. She was smart, powerful, and seemed to be in charge. I thought fast. Should I tell her I'd been kidnapped and forced into this? But if she was helping Tooth ‘n Claw could I trust her? I wasn't sure. I'd play shaken and scared for now; it wouldn't be difficult.

“This one’s been in before. Jack ain't it?” Pete rumbled. They were calm, so we weren't in immediate danger.

“Yeah, Jack Thomas. Live out near the lake. What the fuck is this about?” Lattesta’s fake outrage was convincing.

Pete looked at the guy with the swollen eye. “Is that right Dave?” Dave had Lattesta's wallet in his hand, and he nodded. FBI agents made fake IDs as easy as dogs picked up fleas.

“How well you know this chick?” Pete asked Lattesta.

“Met her two weeks ago on a job in Shreveport. First date. It was going great too.” More fake outrage. “What you mean she ain't human?” I got a strong flicker of curiosity from my ‘date’.

“He's lying about something.” Daisy said. She stepped over to him, looking at Pete, “What's he do?”

“Said he drives truck. Delivers all over the place, that's why he ain’t here much.”

“Yeah?” She leant forward and sniffed. “Smells like cop to me.”

“What the fuck? Did you just sniff me? Are you one of 'em twoeys?” He looked freaked out, and wiggled as far away from her as the chair allowed. It wasn't so far from his real reaction. Then he looked at me. “Holy shit! Don't tell me you're a werewolf too. Shit, were you gonna bite me or something?”

The were with the swollen eye barked out a laugh.

“She's something much rarer,” said Daisy. “You don't know what she is?”

“No I don't. Fuck, I only just met her. I dunno what you got against her, but leave me out of it.” Way to throw me under the bus, partner, I thought sourly. I might be spilling the beans on him to Daisy any second.

“Are you sure you don't know what's going on?” Daisy asked, pulling out a phone. A familiar phone. Shit, I hadn't erased all the text.

“I can explain.” I said hurriedly.

_What the fuck are you doing?_ I gave Lattesta a look that I hoped conveyed shut-the-eff-up and let me deal with this because you don't know squat.

I looked back into Daisy's eyes and the hardness I saw made me hold back on telling her everything. I let my voice shake as I said, “I’m Sarah White from Shreveport. Check in my purse if you like.”

It was sitting on the bar. Dave went through it while I used the time to come up with an explanation for the phone. I tried not to dwell on how creepy it was that Lattesta had a fake ID ready for me.

I took a breath. “I'm real sorry I intruded, ma'am. I didn't mean to upset anyone. I like Jack here a whole lot and I wanted to impress him, so I was kinda showing off with what I can do.” I tried to look embarrassed. “I bet him I could guess names and stuff. He didn't know I was –,” and here I whispered guiltily, “reading folks minds.”

“Do I have rocks in my head?” Daisy said in a cold voice. Oh, no ma’am you don’t, I thought, but you sure look as mean as rattlesnake. She was radiating menace. “That was a pack of lies. Who sent you to spy on me?”

The weres began to move restlessly. She gestured to Pete who growled and began to strip quickly. I could feel Lattesta begin to panic, visualising the silver knife in his boot. Telling her he was FBI right now would get both of us a shallow grave. Shit.

“Wait, wait. I have protection.” I scrabbled frantically for the right words. “I’m under the protection of Felipe de Castro.”

She laughed. “That greedy asshole! He’s nothing in Texas.” She snapped something else and Pete transformed.

I felt Lattesta’s terror alongside my own fear, but at the back of my mind I registered the absence of the familiar gloopy sound. It wasn’t like any shift I’d ever seen. He flickered between human and animal rapidly until his form settled.

Oh. _That’s_ why it’s Smoky Pete’s bar, I thought numbly. Brown bears sure were huge indoors.

Pete-the-bear roared at Lattesta, who pulled his knife. The bear batted his arm lazily, leaving a set of gashes behind and the knife spun across the floor away from us. Lattesta yelled and then the bear knocked him to the floor, pinning him with its muzzle inches from his face as he struggled to get free.

Daisy snapped at the other two, who were struggling not to shift now they smelt blood.

Then she leant over me and hissed, “Tell me who sent you. Now.”

I did the only thing I could. I hauled back and punched her full in the face before she realised I wasn’t cowering anymore.

She fell back on her ass gasping, and I shot off my chair, grabbing it and swinging it in front of me as her fella gave an inhuman howl. He and Dave tore at their clothes and began that odd flickering shift.

Daisy shook herself and jumped up as a huge brindled wolf and a smaller grey one took shape. I backed away from them warily, aiming for a door I’d spotted behind the pool tables, hoping it led outside. I wasn’t fast enough and the larger wolf sprang, knocking me down heavily. I felt my ankle twist and the chair smashed between us knocking the breath from me, but it kept his teeth at bay. He sent me skidding across the floor and it felt like my back, elbows and legs bounced off every piece of furniture in there, until the bar stopped me with a solid thud. I gasped for breath, winded, as the wolf howled in triumph.

Then for the second time that night all hell broke loose.

There were stereo crashes from the back and front doors, and a blur came through each splintered entrance followed by two wolves each. I was seeing spots, but one of the blurs sprang in front of me and a familiar voice yelled out, “Surrender now!”

I heard the snick of a blade over thuds and growls, and saw a flash of gold on one of the wolves. That’s a good idea, collars to mark friend from foe, I thought as the lights went out.

…

Regaining consciousness for the second time that day was even more painful. I felt every bruise, my head pounded and my left ankle was throbbing fiercely. I groaned, and someone lifted me, gently pressing a glass to my lips. I opened my eyes to meet Pam’s smirk and took a sip of water.

“You’re so much trouble, my friend.”

I sat up gingerly, discovering I was on one of the pool tables. Thank goodness someone had folded a coat under my head, but no wonder I was stiff.

Lattesta was tied to a chair, glaring at me.

Astoundingly Daisy and her crew were all still alive, albeit battered. They weren’t tied up I noted. The weres had put jeans back on and were sitting around a table that held a bottle of bourbon and some half-drained glasses. Daisy was icing her cheek – I was pleased as _punch_ to see that, thank you Jason – and the two wolves were sporting bandages on their torsos and arms. Pete was dabbing at a cut on his head with his shirt.

Pam’s wolves seemed to have left, but Thalia was leaning against the bar, nonchalantly wiping her sword with a cloth.

I lowered myself off the pool table and hobbled over to Lattesta. I backhanded him as hard as I could, and when he’d finished spitting blood, I got right in his face and hissed, “Tell me where Hunter is, you piece of shit!”

He laughed hollowly, and Pam let out a curse behind me. “He told you he took the boy?”

I turned to her. “I saw it in his mind. He has him in a basement somewhere Pam. We have to find him.” Lattesta laughed again and Pam shot over to stop me slapping him silly.

“Hunter is safe at home,” she said.

“What! But I saw …”

Lattesta sneered. “You saw what I wanted you to, you dumb bitch.” A film ran in his head. _Lattesta shouting ‘FBI’ and breaking a door down, a boy on a mattress in a damp cellar turning into the light from a torch._ It wasn’t Hunter. It was one of his first cases, a kidnapping up in Illinois. He’d tricked me by showing me Hunter’s face at the right time and I’d been too upset to notice the switch.

“You heartless bastard! You let me think you took him!” This time Pam didn’t stop me and my palm connected satisfyingly with his face.

Lattesta shook his head to clear it. “You think I’d risk my career, my son, by kidnapping a child? You really are stupid.”

I was furious. “Oh yeah? Impersonating a state trooper and kidnapping me should be enough.”

“You don’t want to open that can of worms. There’s a Louisiana trooper who’ll swear up and down he stopped you in Shreveport this morning for speeding.” He was blackmailing him; his girlfriend was an unregistered shifter.

“He’ll swear you called me to get you out of the ticket and you left with me willingly. There’s no proof you didn’t. And the records will show the ticket and a phone call to me. You make accusations about me; you’ll just attract attention to yourself. You don’t want to be on the FBI’s radar. Especially if they find out exactly how you were assisting me tonight.”

“You son of a bitch!” I looked wildly between him and Pam. “You… he… we can’t let him get away with this!”

“Yes. About that.” Pam caught his gaze, saying simply, “Sleep.” He went limp.

Pam guided me over to Daisy’s little band of merry weres. She settled me on a chair, and sat next to me, lifting my ankle gently on to her lap and icing it with her hand. Then she turned to Daisy who was watching her carefully. Thalia moved to stand behind us.

“As I said, this woman is under my protection. She was kidnapped from my area today. She is blameless here, that piece of shit coerced her. She thought he had taken a hostage, a child.” She looked at me, and I nodded to confirm it.

Daisy tilted her head, and looked at me for a moment. “Accepted. The problem remains. This is not your area, and I must deal with threats to my people.” Her body language spoke of grudging respect between the two, witch and vampire. Pam had spoken carefully too, this was a tense negotiation.

“Yes, of course. That is your right. Sookie will tell you what she knows before we leave.” Pam trusted her with my real name, and she was telling Daisy my leaving with the Louisiana posse was non-negotiable.

“Agreed.” Daisy gestured at Lattesta. “Who is he and what does he know about me?”

I looked between them both. My conscience pricked not knowing what she might do to him, but Pam nodded slightly. No choice then, but maybe his job would give him some protection.

“Tom Lattesta. He’s an FBI agent.” Her eyes widened, and Pete swore quietly. I added as an appeal for mercy, “He has a family, in Illinois I think.”

“What is his interest in me?” I didn’t dare read her mind again, but I wished I knew if it was okay to mention Tooth ‘n Claw in front of her friends before I put my foot in my mouth. I picked my next words carefully.

“He didn’t think the bookshop and that _bar job_ in Houston would give you enough for your lifestyle.” I hoped that was subtle enough, but it turned out my discretion was unnecessary.

“Shit. Daisy, I told you getting involved with those fools was a mistake.” Pete grumbled under his breath in another language, and stood up abruptly.

“Sit down, Bearwalking. Be still. I do what I have to for our people.” Oh. She was Native American, and now I had time to observe them side by side, there was a family resemblance. Siblings? I’d been far too tense to notice earlier.

He retook his seat, and gestured to me. “You can speak freely, woman. “ Uh-huh. Well, in for a penny.

“He’s part of the FBI task force dealing with Fellowship campaign against twoeys, but they’ve been looking into the vigilantes who’ve been retaliating, Tooth ‘n Claw. Lattesta thinks Daisy interfered with the FBI surveillance on them but that’s all he knows. He’s investigating you on his own. He’s on leave for a month – the rest of the task force are concentrating on the group in Houston.”

Pam had stiffened at the mention of Tooth ‘n Claw. She said tersely, “Your bear is right. It is a mistake to get involved with that faction.”

“Vampire,” Daisy said, “I will not rely on government or the mercy of citizens to protect my people. We have bitter experience of that. This time we will be proactive.”

I could see deep pain and loss in her eyes. Their warm green-brown drew me in. All at once I heard drumming and chanting. I saw the shadowy outlines of many women, their hair braided with feathers, their clothes strange. Some were talking, laughing with people I couldn’t see. One sat cross-legged scrapping an animal skin, one fed a fire at night, sparks rising against a dark sky, and one gathered berries in a shallow basket made of bark. One by one they turned towards me. I felt pressure behind my eyes, sudden heat in my chest.

I gasped and clutched the edge of the table, overwhelmed by vertigo as the vision disappeared.

“What are you?” I whispered before I could stop myself.

She looked at me curiously. “I carry my ancestors here,” she touched her chest,” and here,” she touched her forehead. She leant forward to look deep into my eyes. “You have a warrior’s heart. Fighting yourself has made you less.”

She pulled back, and the moment was broken.

Pam raised a brow at her and indicating Lattesta’s sleeping form she said, “Do you have a solution to this clusterfuck?”

“He has records of his investigation at his house here,” I warned them.

Daisy grinned. “Leave the Fed with me. He will forget all about me, and this woman. Maybe he will even leave Texas and go back north to his own people.”

Pam gave her a respectful nod. “A pleasure doing business with you.”

She helped me to my feet, and I limped to the bar to pick up my purse. I needed my real ID and belongings out of Lattesta’s truck but I would ditch the clothes I left at his house gladly. I wanted to go home.

…

Pam fired off some texts from her car while Thalia demonstrated a talent for opening locked trucks and I retrieved my things. The first thing I did was scrabble in the glove compartment for my wedding rings and put them back on.

Once we set off, Pam explained my car, spotted abandoned in Shreveport, had led to a search for me. Witnesses at the scene remembered a state trooper and Hunter’s name. Pam, bless her, had checked on Hunter, realised something was wrong and used her contacts in Shreveport PD to trace me to Texas. She said she’d have my car driven back from Shreveport in the morning and gave me my phone back.

I checked it straight away. Not one message from Sam. I was ambivalent about that. At least he hadn’t been worried sick. It was hard to appreciate I’d only been missing for twelve hours. It seemed like days.

The back seat of Pam’s black Audi S4 was very comfortable, so comfortable that I slept almost the whole way back to Bon Temps, waking only briefly when Pam stopped to let Thalia out near Shreveport.

Pam woke me as we turned down my drive about two o’clock. She helped me out of the car, and I had a sudden pang of self-pity when I saw Sam’s truck was still missing.

I invited her in.

Pam helped me to the couch, and grabbed a cushion for my foot. “You should take my blood.”

I glanced at my rings, and shook my head. Things with Sam were precarious enough. “I’ll be fine, Pam. It’s just bruises and a twisted ankle.”

She frowned. “Do you want me to call someone? Sam? Tara? Tomorrow you will be worse.”

“I should be the one to tell Sam.”

She regarded me for a minute. “Promise you will have someone come round tomorrow to check on you. In fact, leave a message for Tara now.”

“But it’s too late to call.”

“Now, Sookie. I have to leave; I was expected elsewhere at sunset. I may not be back tomorrow night. I will worry.”

I groaned. Guilt tripped by Pam. I pulled out my phone and called Tara. I left a message saying simply that I was home and could she please drop by tomorrow afternoon to help me out.

“I’ll just sleep all day and Sam will probably be home by then anyway,” I grumbled.

“Thank you.” She patted my leg. “I have to go. Take it easy on that ankle.”

After she left, I hobbled slowly round the house. I put on a robe, dumped my ‘Sarah White’ costume into a garbage bag, and put it out on the porch. I didn’t want any reminders of Lattesta in the house. I managed a hot shower and put on my softest nightgown. I put my phone to charge on the nightstand, along with some pain killers and a glass of water ready for the morning.

I took two of the pills to help me sleep, set my alarm for noon and fell gratefully into bed.

…

I woke late Saturday afternoon after a disturbed sleep, and yes, everything ached ten times worse. Damn that Pam for being right. I scrabbled for my phone to check for messages, blearily pressing the buttons to pick up a voice-mail from Tara.

“Hey Sook, the twins are a complete nightmare today, and I’m running really late so I can’t make this afternoon. Sorry. Catch you later.”

I sighed. Tara had a habit of pulling out of stuff at the last minute lately, and I knew she blamed the twins when sometimes she was just too tired to meet up with me. It was fine. She had to look after herself now she had kids.

I looked at my clock. I’d slept through the alarm and her call, and now it was after three. Still no message from Sam or any sign of him.

Now I was awake, my bladder desperately needed emptying. I swung my legs out of bed and tentatively put weight on my ankle. It was swollen black and blue, and felt spongy when I stood up. I shuffled painfully to the bathroom and back. I swallowed two more painkillers and lay down until they took hold.

Then I shuffled to the kitchen, leaning on the walls. I slowly made myself a hot tea and some toast. Then I sat at the table to eat with my ankle up on a chair wrapped in a cloth full of ice. It was almost five when I finished.

I had been listening out for Sam’s truck, both wanting him home to comfort me and dreading facing him in this state. It had been so long since I’d been hurt. I didn’t know how he’d react. I was disappointed with myself for falling for Lattesta’s tricks and I knew Sam would be upset about the whole thing. And irate that Pam had been the one to find me.

I hadn’t even called him yet. I sighed. I just felt too pathetic to face making that call. He’d be home tomorrow; the bruises would be less dramatic by then. Better not to upset him before the long drive home anyway.

I put the dishes in the sink but left them unwashed. The ice had numbed my ankle so it was a little easier hobbling back to my room. I got to the bathroom to wash my face, and then I sat on the toilet for a minute to brush my hair.

Everything was fine until I stood up to leave and my ankle gave out under me with a spike of pain. The last thing I saw was the corner of the bath rushing towards me.

  
  



	7. Frustration by Phone

Friday night I rose to pain. That was expected.

No Pam. That was not.

I could feel her faintly. She felt… busy? Hard to tell over my discomfort.

I rolled my head towards the clock. A quarter after six. Only an hour after sunset today, that was encouraging. There was note propped up against the carafe of blood next to the clock.

It shouted in Pam’s neat hand: READ ME FIRST.

Gingerly, I pulled myself up to lean against the headboard and flipped on the light. Too hungry to wait, I moved the piece of folded paper and drained most of the blood from the carafe first. Then I opened the note:

_Something came up. Taking Thalia. Fridge full. STAY in the safe room. Will update by phone._

Great. With Thalia gone I was vulnerable, but neither Pam nor I had been comfortable trusting any other vampire with the knowledge I was here. Even Thalia hadn't known the location of Pam's house until recently.

Although Pam had apparently told Sookie...

I looked over at the dresser. Pam had set up a microwave down here for me, and a mini-fridge. The ornate bottle from Ludwig was on the nightstand next to me.

I took a drop of the potion, and washed it down with the dregs from the carafe. I stayed slumped where I was until the pain dulled.

Then I took the empty carafe and floated myself over to the dresser. Leaning on it heavily, I pulled a few blood bags from the fridge and microwaved them. I tore into the first, drinking greedily and rinsing the bitter taste of the potion from my mouth. I emptied the other bags into the carafe, floating carefully back to the bed with it. As I reached to put it back onto the warmer, I noticed my phone flashing. I picked it up as I lay back on the bed.

I had four messages from Pam. The first was a text.

17:40: **STAY PUT. Rest. Details in v/** **m.**

I fumbled with the touch screen, and then listened to the voice-mail. I could hear she was in a car, her voice tight.

17:41 -- “On my way to rendezvous with Sookie’s guards. They lost contact with her about two o’clock this afternoon in Shreveport. Her car and phone were abandoned outside a mall, the one where Lucy has her boutique. Fortunately the guards drove by in time to see Sookie leave with a state trooper. But not quite in time to intervene.” She hissed in frustration. “They tailed the patrol car but lost it near the railway line. They at least had the sense to double back to her car and speak to witnesses. Two women overheard the trooper mention Hunter Savoy and a car accident, so I will check that first. It might be innocent.” She paused, and then added in Norse, “ _Thalia is with me in case it is not. Please rest. I will handle this_.”

Fuck.

Innocent, my ass. That woman could find trouble in an empty room. And I was helpless to do anything. Again. I pulled the pillow over my face and yelled in frustration. I threw it angrily across the bed.

Well, I could still think, strategize. I could start by narrowing down the list of known hostiles to those who might have a state trooper in their back pocket…

Wait, there were more messages. Between the pain and the potion I was not thinking at all clearly. I listened to a second voice-mail. From the background noise she was outside, probably at the mall where Sookie left her car.

17:59 – “Weres have been bollocked. One looked ready to cry, so I feel much better,” Pam said drily, an attempt to lighten the mood. “I have her phone. Nothing useful on it. Made contact with Hunter’s father, Remy Savoy. Pretended to be one of those annoying insurance surveys, flirted a bit. Confirmed he hasn’t had a recent car accident and I heard the boy in the background. The wolves are falling over their tails to be helpful now. One has contacted a friend in Baton Rouge to get eyes-on confirmation of the Savoys' status, and to check for any out of place scents around their home.” She paused. “Tracking her via her car or phone is not possible – we have become over reliant on that. Working theory: the trooper is not legit. Next move: my contact in Shreveport PD to work the trooper angle. Will update when I know more.”

Damn. I fumbled anxiously for the last message. It was a text.

18:13: **Contact not on shift until 7. Trying local witch for locator spell in meantime. Sit tight**.

I groaned. It was 18:42 now. It could be at least another hour before I heard more.

I glared at the ceiling for a minute. Then I looked at the nightstand. Yes, the unmarked tub of ointment was there. Ludwig had instructed once a night without fail, and it might cut the healing time by a quarter if I was lucky. I delayed for another couple of minutes, focusing on Pam. She was irritated. Probably dealing with the witch.

When I couldn’t put it off any longer, I threw off the covers and took the ointment into the bathroom. Pam had a large shower with a bench seat down here, which was the best place for this. I sat on the bench and set the open tub down next to me. I closed my eyes and focused for a few minutes, steeling myself and planning in what order I would treat my wounds. Then I closed my connection to Pam and began.

The ointment burnt fiercely wherever it was smeared. I coated as many places as I could before bloody tears blinded me. Once the burning subsided to dull heat, I wiped my eyes clear on my arm and doggedly moved on to the next area. I reached the most sensitive place last, and allowed myself a count of three before wiping the greasy substance on as quickly as I could, panting with pain.

Mercifully I lost some time then. I came back to myself, curled in a tight ball on the shower floor. The dull aches told me the ointment had soaked in enough to do its work. I gritted my teeth and pulled myself back onto the bench, screwed the tub closed and reached up to flick on the water. Once I’d rinsed off, I carefully wrapped myself in the soft robe Pam had bought for me. I slumped on the bench, slowly rubbing my hair dry with a towel, mentally crossing off another day from the long months of recovery time.

I floated myself back to the bed, and swore when I saw the clock. 20:03. Still no message from Pam.

I drank hurriedly from the carafe, and got myself settled on the bed with my phone. I opened our connection for a few seconds. Pam was busy, but less irritated, more anxious. Not good. I closed my eyes and dropped into downtime, exhausted.

I snapped awake at 20:47 to Pam’s ringtone, Material Girl. I fumbled with the phone again, but managed to pick up in time.

I disguised my voice with a French accent in case I could be overheard. “I am here.”

“Good. Now don’t interrupt,” she replied curtly. She was in a car again, alone or with Thalia if she could speak freely.

“My contact IDed the trooper from the partial license plate the Weres got. Their patrol cars are fitted with GPS trackers, so my contact called in some favours and found out where the vehicle went this afternoon. It stopped in an old industrial lot off the I49 for about thirty minutes, before returning to patrol the I20. I sent the Weres to check out that location. They report she was likely switched to another car there from the scents.

“Thalia and I paid the trooper a little home visit in Minden. He wasn’t in; neighbours couldn’t tell us where he is. But the scent at his house did not match the male at Sookie’s car and the home reeked of a female shifter. Unfortunately the Weres weren’t with us to identify her, so she’s an unknown.”

I bit back a curse and spoke calmly. “So an unknown male impersonated our Minden state trooper, who is missing. This unknown male tricked or coerced Sookie into the patrol car, and drove her to the second location to switched cars. You don’t have any leads on who he is or the second car.”

“Correct. But in our favour there are no indications that she was hurt at the transfer point.”

“And you can’t track her?”

“No, my blood in her is gone.”

I swore softly, and she chuckled.

“Have a little faith. The witch came through. She can spell a compass to point to Sookie’s location for six hours. Bloody expensive, mind you. She's a mercenary bitch when she gets a whiff of money. She just needed something of Sookie’s. Luckily Sookie left a hairbrush under her car seat along with her phone, and that will do. I've called in two experienced Were trackers not vampires, in case we have to go out of state. We're about five minutes out from Fangtasia to meet up with the Weres and the witch.”

“Is this witch reliable?”

“I've used her before. She's skilled and money buys her loyalty.”

“Good. Let me know once the spell is cast.”

“Yessir,” she said sarcastically, hanging up.

I blinked at the phone.

Ah. I suppose she had a point, this was her area now. I didn't have a position here. Or anywhere.

…

I fidgeted restlessly for a while. To pass time, I took the carafe into the bathroom and rinsed it clean, then filled it with more warmed blood. I tried to drop back into downtime, but haphazard thoughts about Sookie and my uncertain future kept me anchored in the present. I lay as still as possible, thinking about starting from scratch again.

Finally my phone burst into song at 21:25.

Pam spoke before I could answer. “It worked. We're heading west on the I20, looks like Texas. No idea how far or what we'll be facing. I'll call Stanislaus to apprise him of the situation before we get into his territory.”

“He'll be co-operative?” She knew the current relationship between Texas and Louisiana better than me, and she hadn't called him by that name by accident. She definitely knew the Texan king better than I did.

“Oh yes. For me, and he still owes Sookie protection. Those decrees were a shrewd move, Eric.”

“And even shrewder that they are tied to her lifetime, not my contract with Freyda. But credit for that goes to Cataliades.”

“Demons make the best lawyers. I will call when I have news.”

“ _Thank you, Pam.”_ I said softly in Norse.

“ _It's nothing.”_ She replied likewise, and hesitated. “ _Thank you for closing yourself off from me. Are you well?_ ”

“ _Yes. I'm resting. And very bored._ ” I lied. She couldn’t tell. I knew feeling me, and my pain, was a distraction she didn't need tonight so I was only opening the connection occasionally to check on her.

She snorted, and said, “Don't bullshit a bullshitter, Eric,” as she ended the call.

I laughed. She had me there.

…

Now things seemed to be going in our favour, I tried to relax. I drank some more blood when the pain became distracting. I stared at the ceiling some more. I worried. I was physically resting at least, even if my mind was not.

I drifted to how Sookie had looked the night before. Her hair was long again. I remembered the awful smell of it after the fire, when it had to be cut. That could have been much worse. I remembered the taste of her fear that night, driving me to her side. I snorted at myself. I knew in my bones if I was able I would be with Pam tonight – I'd never needed Sookie's feelings to pull me to her.

But it wasn't my place any more.

I had a fleeting jealous twinge. Of course, he would be on the way with the Weres and Pam had not wanted to rub that in my face while I was stuck here, helpless.

I didn't have a place in her life. Or in Area 5. What the fuck was I going to do?

I laughed weakly at the irony. Be careful what you wish for indeed. I'd longed to be free from that bitch Freyda, and suddenly, unexpectedly, far earlier than I'd hoped for, I was.

And now I didn't know what to do with the freedom I’d desired so strongly.

Oh, I could start again, make money, find a place to make my own … but it wouldn't be the same. Something would be missing.

I laughed again. That was ridiculous: I'd miss something I never really had. She'd never given herself to me as she had the shifter. The sound died in my throat. I swallowed.

Pain washed through me again. Everything felt worse.

“Just survive tonight,” I whispered, not knowing if I meant it for myself or for Sookie.

…

Just after eleven o'clock the ping of a text brought me out of downtime. I knocked the damn phone on the floor, and once I'd scrabbled for it I saw I'd missed two earlier messages. This time I read them all at once.

22:11: **Making good time. Texas is helpful, has put word out. No news yet.**

22:49: **Might be in Tyler. Stan says no vamp presence. Weres** **tho.** **Narrowing location down. Soon.**

23:02: **Were bar. Odds in our favour. Going in.**

I stared at the phone and opened my connection to Pam. Her presence was faint, to the west. She was eager, if I wasn't imagining that.

Minutes ticked by slowly. I held the phone to my chest, and closed my eyes. They would succeed, I told myself every few minutes. Pam and Thalia were not going to be outwitted by Weres.

I startled about twenty minutes later when the phone finally vibrated in my hand and rang out at the same time. I waited for the caller to speak first in case Pam’s phone was in enemy hands.

“She's safe.” Pam’s voice.

“Injuries? Losses?” I asked tersely.

“Ah. She's bruised and out cold, but otherwise intact. Our Weres are a little ruffled; theirs more so. Thalia brought a sword,” she chuckled, and there was a discontented murmur in the background, grumbling about her assessment. Their Weres? They sounded too healthy to have met Thalia's blade. Pam added, “No losses on either side.”

What the fuck?

“Thalia brought a sword and nobody died?”

“I was recognised as yours. A truce was called.”

“What?”

“We're about to negotiate, but their leader wants to speak to you first.” I frowned – did I know any Weres in East Texas? I could hear Pam moving and then a new voice spoke in a language I hadn't heard in decades.

“ _Eric the North Man. Are you still as pale as snow in the moonlight?”_

My eyes widened. _“Clearspring?”_ I named her in her tongue.

She chuckled. _“Her granddaughter. I walk in her footsteps, and carry our ancestors as she did.”_

“ _I understand. I am glad her blood continues. May I know your name?”_

“ _I go by_ Daisy Riverstone _in this world._ ” Ah, yes. Names were sacred to her people. “ _This_ _vampire, Ravens-nest, is yours?”_

“ _Yes. She is my child.”_

“ _And the fae woman, the one who hears minds?”_

I hesitated a second. “ _She is under our protection, and that of_ King Davis.”

“ _Then she should know that,”_ she said sharply. _“She only mentioned that ravenous wolf_ de Castro.”

I gave a vague answer. _“She belongs to his land._ Louisiana _.”_

“ _Yours too.”_

“ _No. Not my land, not_ _anymore._ Louisiana Area 5 _is my child's.”_

“ _I did not mean the land.”_ She laughed and insisted again softly, _“Yours.”_

I looked at the phone in confusion for a second, until Pam's voice drawled in English, “You have such useful exes Eric.”

I put the phone back to my ear and heard a growl followed by Daisy laughing again, telling the unhappy Were to can it because she'd never _personally_ met me in the flesh.

Pam chuckled. “I have negotiations to conclude and Little Miss Trouble should wake soon. I'll let you know when we're on the way back.”

And again, she ended the call.

Women. I sighed, and finally relaxed. She was safe. The rest was details.

…

I got a text later, around midnight.

**Negotiation complete. On way back. Kidnapper was known to you. Human, acting alone. Wanted S to investigate Daisy. Your ex has dubious taste in friends. Explain more later.**

Then another text a quarter after one. She did love that car.

**Dropping Thalia off now. She'll be with you in 15 & will stay outside. Seeing S home, but going on to Alexandria. TRex insisted. Be back be4 dawn 2moro.**

I snorted at the text speak. No need to shorten words typing at vamp speed, she was feeling playful now the crisis had passed. I felt almost cheerful too.

She was taking Sookie home. Wasn't that the shifter's job? And could I wait until tomorrow to find out what had happened in Texas?

I went back and forth for a few minutes, and then decided fuck it, I had enough frustrations right now. I phoned her.

“Eric. She's sleeping.”

I strained to hear, and caught a few even breaths over the sound of the road. “Are you free to talk? I could call back after you’ve dropped her home.”

“No, it’s fine. She’s exhausted. We won’t disturb her.”

Strangely, the only breathing I could hear in the background was Sookie’s. The shifter must be riding back with the Weres. I didn’t ask, Pam didn’t tell. But I suspected Pam must have refused to have her Audi polluted with the scent of dog.

Pam filled in the details for me. Fucking FBI. Lattesta – I remembered Sookie mentioning him. If he’d been skiing off piste alone, whatever Niall had done to get the rest of the FBI off Sookie's back was holding. And if Daisy had half the power her grandmother had had, Lattesta would not be a problem for Sookie again.

After that, we talked politics for a brief time until Pam reached Bon Temps and ended the call. I put the phone down, and relaxed on the bed to mull over our conversation and the current political climate in the south. It would distract me from my injuries.

Pam had spoken to Texas during the drive back to let him know everything was resolved. He had been unusually forthcoming. Stan had been collaborating with the FBI task force, passing on information about Fellowship members and activity, simultaneously keeping an eye on the Feds.

Lattesta had actually been his FBI liaison in Dallas for a time two years ago, before the FBI’s focus shifted to Houston. Stan said Lattesta was very interested in his telepath. Pam speculated Lattesta had used the young man to practise concealing his thoughts, which I agreed could explain how he'd managed to fool Sookie so effectively.

Tooth ‘n Claw was a recent thorn in Stan’s side. He had not been happy to hear the FBI was closing in on them, or that they were using a powerful witch.

At Zeus conferences in the last few years Stan had spoken consistently in favour of forging strong alliances with the shapeshifters. He saw presenting a united front to human society as a necessity, as did I. A peaceful, law-abiding front.

Tooth ‘n Claw presented a threat to that. Should their violent reprisals become known, humans would tar all shapeshifters as dangerous. Vampires would suffer by association. Accusations would be made, fingers pointed, and our alliances would fall apart under the resultant bickering.

I could understand why Daisy felt compelled to get involved given her background, but she was mistaken. This underground war between human extremists and shapeshifter vigilantes was too risky. Forensics would expose the vigilantes eventually.

The shapeshifters had to reign in the more violent elements of their society, as did we.

We couldn't afford to provoke an all-out conflict with humans, or even let them become fearful enough to bring in some of the draconian controls muttered about from time to time. Now we were out of the bottle, like the clichéd genie, there was no putting us back. We all had to change or face the consequences.

Even the Fellowship were adapting with the changing climate, after they lost public sympathy following several PR disasters.

My first winter in Oklahoma, a documentary about Rhodes was released. It was widely praised, won awards. It was an open secret amongst my kind that certain vampire monarchs in the north-east funded it, wanting to nip extremism in the bud before it could bloom in their kingdoms. It focused on the human death toll, interviews with traumatised hotel workers, and footage of the rescue attempts; I watched it to be sure it didn’t expose Sookie or her talent. It was well made.

Then, about six months later, a couple of investigative journalists released interviews with three alleged draining victims. Graphic pictures of their gruesome appearance right after the attacks was intercut with later film of recovered, attractive, wholesome vampires shakily discussing their ordeals. The filmmakers included real footage, illegal cell phone footage circulating online, of fatal drainings, vampires burning in the sun. There was a follow up – interviews with recovering V addicts – that compared drainers to drug dealers. The interviews evoked an upsurge of sympathy in our favour.

Many older vampires suspected that those three attacks were staged; the victims were only a few decades old, and vampires that age rarely survived a draining. Most of us appreciated the sophisticated tactics to manipulate opinion. There were rumours, but no-one knew who was behind it, who to thank for the results.

The Fellowship had always called draining a victimless crime because soulless vampires didn’t count. After the interviews that view was dismissed by the majority and the court system began treating drainers more consistently.

There were even campaigns in some northern states to increase penalties for draining, complemented by vampire moves to report more attacks, with the ultimate aim of routinely handing drainers over to human law enforcement.

That was very forward thinking. Our ruthless system of justice would seem barbaric to humans in this age, and vampire society had to evolve to fit the post-Revelation reality. We had to integrate with the society we'd hidden from for so long. It was a slow process but change had begun.

For the two-natured, things were still in flux.

After the Reveal, humans reacted predictably. The Fellowship fanned their ignorance and mistrust of ‘unnatural’ creatures that could pass as human. Initially the attacks on weres and shifters were met, if not with encouragement, by indifference from most of the public.

The Fellowship funded a successful advertising campaign outing several high-profile sports figures as two-natured. There was outraged talk of testing, lifetime bans. Then they seriously overplayed their hand by outing a few soldiers, implying national security was compromised by the two-natured presence in the military.

After couple of slick interviews in which highly decorated two-natured soldiers outed themselves, relating occasions where their extra abilities had saved other soldiers, loyal Americans spoke out in support of two-natured who fought for their country. The Fellowship's image was tarnished, some commentators calling their campaign unpatriotic. Gossip amongst supes had it that the response was organised entirely by the military, who viewed two-natured troops as an advantage not to be given up.

Shortly after that, there was a change in the Fellowship. The church gained new leadership, headed by an eloquent, apple-pie spokesman and preacher, Simon Trent. They began to distance themselves from attacks, claiming to be a non-violent peaceful organisation. There was a period of relative inaction, with only minor attacks on supes.

Then a scandal about the BSA, the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs, broke.

Information from the new register had leaked, and Trent denounced the use of it to target shapeshifters.

A number of poorly reported attacks on shapeshifters across the south followed, culminating in the murder of a whole Were family in Houston. No link to the church was ever proved, but the Fellowship’s latest tactic became transparent.

They had positioned themselves as the acceptable face of fundamentalism, keeping at arm’s length from the shadowy group of ex-military thugs who were carrying out the attacks. A new paramilitary organisation had been born, separate from the church, and the supernatural community soon came to know them as The Chosen.

It was similar to the relationship between Sinn Fein and the IRA during the Anglo-Irish conflict. The church had become a mouthpiece for those who wanted supes out of their society, one untouched by controversial violence. Just like Sinn Fein had been the IRA’s 'clean' mouthpiece. It was a valid tactic.

If we followed the pattern of Northern Ireland, and many other conflicts, there would be unrest and bloodshed until public opinion demanded peace and the government brokered a deal between the two sides. Moderates on both sides would have to pressure their own extremists into a ceasefire.

I hoped we could deliver on that when the time came. For some vampires and shapeshifters peace would not come naturally.

I came out of my deep thoughts in time to take a drop of Ludwig’s potion and some more blood before dawn.

…

The next night, I rose groggy.

I felt like I was fighting the day. I groaned, and rolled to look at the clock. Only five minutes after sunset. I should be still dead to the world.

Pam was very faint. She would be just rising in Alexandria herself. What had woken me?

The house phone rang on Pam's side of the bed. I blinked at it in surprise.

Pam would phone my cell. Someone calling for her would call hers. Of course – her charger was still here, on the dresser. She probably ran her phone down last night during the crisis.

It was probably Area business. Originally she expected to rise here tonight, so they’d tried her cell, and then called here.

I could take a message for her. I forced myself fully awake, and picked up the cordless handset.

“State your business.”

“H-Hello, I need to speak to Sheriff Ravenscroft. It's urgent.” Young, local accent, breather.

“She's not available. I can take a message.”

“I’m only to report to her or Thalia.” He swallowed loudly. “Is - is Thalia available? She’s not answering her cell.”

“No.” I heard him mumble a curse. “Who is this?”

“Um, I guess I can tell you that … Jack Norris.”

“Ah. You’re from Hotshot.” I frowned, what job was Pam using Calvin's panthers … shit. Sookie. “Are you guarding something for the Sheriff?”

“Oh. Um. I'm not supposed t-”

“This is Pam's Maker. Is Sook\- Mrs Merlotte in danger?”

There was louder cursing, and fumbling. He cleared his throat nervously. “Mr Northman? I can tell you but you have to give me proof it's you. The sheriff told us a question to ask. ‘Who did she refuse to wade in bullshit for?’”

I thought for a second – ah, yes, I remembered her acid comments when she refused to help me with the bull. “Callisto.” That was a good question, only Indira knew about that.

He sighed in relief. “Good. Great. We've got a problem. The sheriff left instructions to mind that Mrs Merlotte got a visitor today. She's on her own in the house and beat up so the sheriff wanted to be sure she got some help. Well, no-one showed. Mrs Merlotte was up and about late afternoon alright. But just before sunset, we heard a crash and think she took a fall.”

“Go in and see if she's alright.” Idiots.

“We ain't supposed to be seen, sir, and we ain't allowed near the house.”

“It's an emergency. Just do it. Stay on the phone.”

“Sir I can’t -” There was a shout. “Wait, my partner's calling.” Movement and a muffled conversation.

“She's in the master bath, can't see her from the window, but we can hear her breathing, and she sounds pretty bad, sir.”

Fuck. “Break in.” I heard him begin to say something, and then the other guard took the phone.

“Excuse Norris, he's filling in for his uncle, first night. This is Margaret Pickard from Long Tooth. Paramedic trained. Sounds like she's stable for now. It could be a fall, or delayed reaction to head trauma. We can't get in the house, it’s warded and you need a specific invite. It’s never been a problem because her husband is either around or he issues an invite to us over the phone. I just tried his cell, and he's not answering.”

“Keep trying. When will the vampire guards arrive?”

“They should be here in about an hour, but they definitely can’t get in.”

“Bill, her neighbour-”

“He's away.”

Fuck. I calculated, looking at the clock.

Pam would have an invite to the house, but she was in Alexandria, ninety minutes away from Bon Temps.

Thalia wouldn’t get here for another half an hour, and clearly wouldn’t answer her phone until she was on duty, something she did defiantly on a regular basis. Plus I had no authority to order her to Bon Temps, and she would argue against it. It was unlikely she had an invite anyway.

“Is there someone else who can get in the house, bring her out? What about emergency services?”

“No go. I don’t have contact details for friends, and she shouldn't be moved without medical support. I don’t know if the ward has a loophole for emergencies. I doubt it. She's unconscious and it's still blocking us. And I've just checked the emergency frequency. Big accident out the other side of Clarice has all the meat wagons. They wouldn't get here for at least an hour.”

I could be there in half an hour. If I got to the house, and they could find someone who could cross the ward, they could take her my blood…

That was an insane plan. But I didn’t have time to think of another.

No choice. Never a choice.

“I'll be there as soon as I can. Keep trying Merlotte. Find someone, anyone who can get in.” I hung up.

Next I tried Pam’s cell. Definitely off. Then I called her through the blood once as strongly as I could, hoping she would be able to get to a phone and call me. I microwaved and drank six bags of blood, taking three drops from the potion. Ludwig said three but no more would get me functional for an hour or so in a crisis. It would have to be long enough.

I dressed as fast as I could. First the gloves, the device, then sweat pants, a sweater. Phone, pocket knife. Shoes took a minute as I fumbled awkwardly with the laces.

The pain was already dulling as I got the dagger from the hall, strapping it to my right ankle. I went to the back door, and called softly for Thalia. Not here yet. No time to wait, I took to the sky.

I flew like a bullet, revelling in the sensations and smells of the night.

I laughed loudly, and swooped low over the trees. I realised I was high and I didn't care. I pushed my speed to the limit and followed the familiar route, buzzing with energy.

At the welcome sight of Bon Temps on the horizon, I slowed a little and breathed deeply, gathering my wits. I'd made record time – it was a little over twenty minutes since I'd spoken to the guards – but I felt disconnected from my body, my limbs were numbed, my thoughts slowed. It wasn’t unpleasant. Just … unfortunate when I needed a clear head.

I landed awkwardly at the front of the house, catching the railing by the porch steps for balance. I was up onto the porch without any real plan for what I would do next when the guards pounded around the corner. “Any change?” I asked over my shoulder, stopping myself moving towards the door.

Jack looked wet behind the ears, barely of age. He was wide-eyed, scared. Margaret was the opposite: middle-aged, no-nonsense, sensibly dressed for the woods. She answered, “No. Breathing irregular. Heartbeat still strong. Thank God you can get in.”

I turned to look at her in surprise from the porch, and realised they had stopped at the steps. I frowned. I had crossed the ward already? I hadn’t felt it. I really was high.

But how? I doubted I had an invite … but if Pam did … perhaps through her?

That was new. Had I inherited that ability because Ocella was gone, or had I aged enough to gain it?

The woman was looking at me oddly. Shit. I shuffled my scattered thoughts back into order. Focus, I had to focus.

I turned back, catching myself before I swayed, and tried the door. Locked. But if the ward covered the porch… I spotted the familiar worn planter. I knelt gingerly in front of it. No pain, good. I tilted the pot and pulled the spare key out from underneath, smiling to myself. She hadn’t moved it.

The lock clicked and the door opened. I tutted to myself. She hadn’t used the dead bolt. She always forgot.

“Go back to the bedroom window,” I told the guards, before I shut the front door behind me.

I floated quickly through the house, ignoring the shifter’s scent and the changes that jarred with the sudden montage of memories that flooded over me. It was worse when I opened her – no, their bedroom door and found the room completely different, but then smell of her blood hit me.

That wiped everything away, and I was knelt next to her body before I could blink, my mind suddenly sharp.

She was face down, sprawled on the tiled floor next to the bath.

There was a smear of blood and hair on the rim of the bath. Her hair was pink on that side, fanned out and lying in a small puddle of clotting blood. Her breaths were shallow, fast and irregular. Not good.

I would have to move her to assess the head wound, but I might have to give her blood immediately if she worsened. In all likelihood I would have to feed her to stabilise her anyway.

I stepped quickly back into the bedroom, and lifted the window. “She hit her head on the bath. It’s cast iron. I need to roll her over to see the wound.”

The bitch sucked her teeth, and began “That could–”

“Precipitate a crisis. I’m aware. I’ll be ready to heal her,” I interrupted. She looked relieved, and nodded.

“Go back to the tree-line and I’ll signal when she’s safe.”

I shut the window, and spotted her phone on the night stand. I took it back to the bathroom, and found the video function. I pressed record and began talking as I knelt, leaving space to roll her towards me. I held it close to her briefly so the microphone could pick up her breathing. Then I propped the phone against the wall, angling it so the camera would capture where she would be after I turned her over. I opened my pocket knife with my teeth and placed it on the floor next to me ready. I used my teeth again to peel up the glove on my right hand, exposing my wrist.

Then I reached across her and gently rolled her over, supporting her head.

Her breathing immediately hitched, and I grabbed the knife, assessing the bloody dent over her left temple. Depressed fracture. Potentially fatal. I slashed my wrist deeply, and forced her mouth open, letting the thick blood drip in.

She spluttered, then began to swallow weakly. Good. That was a good sign.

I talked for the recording as I watched the fracture begin to repair. I slashed my wrist open a second time when it healed, keeping the flow going until her skull was back in place. I watched her closely, licking at my wrist as it healed sluggishly so the blood didn’t go to waste. Her breathing was deep, even.

I called her name softly. She moaned a little but didn’t wake. I didn’t feel pain from her – through the faint connection that had just formed – and she was sleeping rather than unconscious. I slumped against the wall for a minute, relieved. Then the smell of her blood began to make my gums itch painfully. I tore my eyes from the bloody puddle and forced myself up to my feet, muttering to myself.

I slung a towel over my shoulder and pocketed my knife and her phone so I had both hands free. I gathered her to me, and lifted. I staggered a little as I turned to the door and braced my shoulder against the wall for a second. The blood on her hair called to me, but I steeled myself and half floating, half walking got her through the door and to the bed.

Sitting sideways with her on my lap, I spread the towel across the pillows, then gently manoeuvred her until she was lying comfortably on it. The urge to lean down and lick the dried blood smearing her face was powerful. I had to get out of here.

I wobbled to the window and leant against the frame. I fumbled it open again and signalled to the weres, quietly telling them that she was out of danger. The female gave the all clear signal in reply before they melted into the woods. I shut the window, turned for the door, and then cursed.

I’d forgotten her phone was still in my pocket.

I sat on the bed while I searched her nightstand for a pen and paper. I scribbled a note, squinting as the words blurred. Shit. I’d better hurry. I managed to put things back in place, leaving the note on top of her phone where she’d see it, just before a wave of pain roiled over me.

Time to leave.

I closed the door behind me quietly and limped for the front door, gritting my teeth. Almost there, I shivered when I felt a strong call in my blood. Pam.

I leant heavily against the wall in the hallway. As I fumbled for my phone, a larger swell of pain hit me, churning me in its grip until the world span and fell away.


	8. Rough Night

My bed was comfortingly familiar. I rolled over to snuggle into my pillow, and was met with a rough, sticky sensation.

That didn’t feel right.

Confused, I reached under my head. My fingers caught in a matted clump of hair just as I woke up enough to register the metallic smell of dried blood.

I sat bolt upright in bed. My ankle. I fell. Hit my head. In the bathroom.

How did I get to bed?

I looked round wildly, wondering if Sam was home at last. Nope, no sign of him or anyone else. The room was dark, but moonlight drifted in through the window opposite the bathroom. The drapes were open, I was sure I’d closed them. Someone had been here.

The house was still, not a mouse or a snarly shifter mind stirring.

I reached over and switched on the lamp. There was a bloody towel covering the pillows, and a note on top of my phone, on my nightstand. The messy scrawl read _: Watch the video._

Huh? What video? I flipped the note over. Nothing on the back. The writing seemed familiar, but it wasn't Sam's. I glanced at my phone wondering if he'd called at all. I picked it up to check.

Oh. No messages, but a video icon was flashing in the corner of the screen. I’d never used it to take video myself. I figured my mysterious benefactor had messed with it. Curious, I selected the video and hit play.

I watched the footage jerk as the person holding my phone moved in and hunkered down next to a sprawled body. It was a woman lying on a tiled floor, a pool of blood visible under her head. My body, I realised with a shock, recognising my nightgown.

A voice spoke, unmistakable even with the bathroom echo and the distortion from the speakers: Eric.

“You fell against the tub, about an hour ago I think. Your breathing is affected.” He paused for a moment and my hair filled the screen, and I heard ragged, uneven breaths. That did not sound good. The viewpoint moved again and I was looking at myself from somewhere near the floor. “It's serious. I may have to give you blood to keep you alive.”

He did something off camera and said, “I have to roll you.”

He did so quietly and I saw the blood coating the side of my face and soaked into my hair, and heard my breathing falter through the phone. He swore, and did something out of sight. I heard a clatter, something hard falling on the tiled floor, and then he was feeding the unconscious me his blood.

“There's no choice Sookie. You'll stop breathing if I don't do this. You have a depressed skull fracture. There must be swelling or a bleed compressing your brain. There's no-one else here who can help,” he said grimly.

I could see the awful misshapen wound on the side of my head slowly improving. His wrist disappeared out of view, and came back to feed me again. I unconsciously touched my temple as I watched, and was relieved to find it whole and pain free. He said, “Just enough to fix the fracture. That should do.”

After a few seconds he called my name, and my image stirred a little.

I heard a relieved sigh off camera, and a heavy thud as his legs came into view. He'd sat next to the phone. After a minute he muttered to himself, “Have to go. Can't leave you here.” He got up and moved around. Then he picked the phone up, and the video ended.

I watched it again, concentrating on video Sookie’s terrible rasping breathing, and the gruesome injury. I swallowed bile as I saw a flash of white in the gash that could only be bone. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths until I felt less nauseous.

I couldn't fault Eric's decision, but it sure couldn't have been a worse time for me to take his blood.

I dreaded having that conversation with Sam, on top of explaining yesterday's kidnapping, and discussing the state of our marriage. Sam would not take any of it well, but at least the video would show him how seriously I’d been hurt. Not that that would make him feel any better about it, but I didn’t want him to think I had a choice.

I frowned.

Would Eric get in trouble with Felipe for giving me blood without my consent? It would only breach the agreement to leave me alone on a technicality, but vampires loved to twist things in their favour. And Felipe would interpret things to his own advantage.

That was if Felipe was still king and not finally dead like Freyda. But Pam would have mentioned that, I was sure. Well, maybe she would have … if we actually talked about anything vampire related these days.

If I still had Felipe’s protection as Eric said, I bet Eric took the video to cover his own ass. He always looked after himself.

I frowned again. But he used my phone and left it for me, as if he knew I would need an explanation. Damn straight I did. And I appreciated that he’d left one, but … Maybe he sent himself a copy too? I looked at my phone suspiciously. I had no idea how to check if he had or not.

Well, there was nothing I could do about it now. It was seven o’clock. From the time stamp on the video, if he left right after he healed me he'd been gone over an hour.

I stood, and stretched. I didn't feel buzzed on vamp blood. My ankle was still a little stiff, but it took my weight without protest. I was grateful for that. I grabbed the towel from the bed and headed to clean up.

I winced at the mess in the bathroom. Guess Freyda hadn't had any better luck than me training Eric to clean house, I thought sourly.

I wet the dirty towel thoroughly and dropped it over the dried blood, leaving it soak while I leant over the bath and used the shower-head to rinse my face and wash out my hair. Once I'd towelled my hair dry, I grabbed some comfortable sweats from the dresser and changed, leaving my nightgown soaking in the sink. It was only a little spattered, but blood stains if you don't get on it right away.

I made quick work of wiping the bath and floor using the ruined towel, rinsing it out a few times until the blood was gone. Then I sprayed down the area with a pleasant lemon-scented cleaner. It was a relief to smell something other than the coppery tang of blood.

I wrung out the gown and towel as best I could, dumped them both in the bucket from under the sink to carry them to the back porch, and checked the bed on the way. The bedding was fine. Thank goodness Eric had been considerate enough to put a towel down.

I went out into the hallway, and stopped to switch on the light. It was a good job that I did, and that I glanced towards the front door as I passed the stairs.

I dropped the bucket and gasped.

There was a body in the hallway.

…

I ran to fetch the shotgun form behind the water heater, heart pounding.

I hadn’t had a body to deal with for years. I was very conscious of the dark windows and my home’s isolation. I paused by the bucket, and listened hard. All clear with all senses. I approached cautiously, gun ready, flicking the light on as soon as I reached the switch.

Shit! It was Eric, his body hunched awkwardly near the wall, face down.

I flicked the safety on and leant the gun up against the hall table, calling his name quietly. No response.

I knelt down beside him, shaking his shoulder, calling him again. Shit, had he been like this for an hour? What on earth had happened? His cold, limp body brought back memories of Rhodes so strongly that I actually looked up to check the windows were dark. I'd never seen a vampire like this at night … And even now I was touching him, I realised I could barely feel the usual void of his mind.

Was he dying? Would he crumble away in front of me? I gasped. No, no, no. That was not happening. I actually shook my head and burst out, “No!”

The sound snapped me out of my panic. I took a deep calming breath.

Right. He was hurt somehow, needed my help. “Get it together Stackhouse,” I muttered under my breath.

I looked him over for obvious signs of injury. Wait. His sweater had ridden up a little, and there was something... I tugged it further up his back. My hand flew to my mouth. Scars. He had scars, ugly raised welts crisscrossing his lower back. Whip marks. He'd been whipped.

The scars were healed though. Not normal vamp healed-and-gone, and they had an odd bluish tint, but they definitely weren't recent.

I put my questions about that on hold and quickly scanned the rest of him. His left foot was twisted unnaturally against the wall. Had he broken it? I didn't see how, there was no sign of a fight.

Okay. Time to roll him over, just like he'd done for me. Well, not quite. He weighed a tonne, and it was an inelegant, sweaty struggle that ended with two thuds. One as his head hit the floor, and the second as his foot flopped at a sickening angle.

I stopped worrying about that once I saw his face.

His cheeks were sunken, skin tight across his skull and faintly grey. His hair was dull and tangled; his jaw slack, mouth gaping and lips cracked. Worse, his eyes were half-open and lifeless.

“No, no, no, don't you dare! Don't you dare die on me Eric Northman!” I yelled. I moved with panic-fuelled speed to pull his head onto my lap and without thinking shoved my wrist at his mouth.

Wait Sookie, you idiot, you need his fangs, I scolded myself. I felt inside his mouth, planning to nick a finger and draw his fangs down with a whiff of blood, and got another shock.

My fingertip slipped into a soft, wet hole. I pushed his lip up frantically, peering into his mouth. No.

He'd been de-fanged.

I closed my eyes and snarled with frustration. He needed blood. Now.

Hold on – he gave me blood. How? I replayed the video in my mind and heard that clatter right before he fed me. He had a knife!

I pulled out from under his head so fast it thunked on the floor again. I winced, but shuffled quickly down to his hips. I patted his pockets, pulling out a phone and jackpot – a little folding knife. I was back cradling his head on my lap lickety-split, pulling the blade open. I pulled up my sleeve and slashed my left wrist as deeply as I dared.

I shoved the wound over his mouth, blocking out the pain. He didn't swallow or react. I counted to ten, then twenty, calling his name, cajoling him to drink. Still nothing. I lifted my wrist a little and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. I squinted. I was pretty sure the dark liquid pooling at the back of his throat was draining slowly. Good. I replaced my wrist, and counted enough mississippis for three minutes, watching anxiously for any change.

Three minutes was as long as I dared give him. I squeezed my wrist hard with my other hand, wishing Eric could seal it. I stared at him, willing him to recover. Maybe he looked a little less grey?

Suddenly, his eyes fluttered and closed. I held my breath, but nothing else happened.

Shit. Blood was oozing between my fingers, so I wiggled out from under him, lowering him gently this time. I snagged a silk scarf from the coat rack by the door and rushed into the hall bath. The cut was only oozing when I looked, thanks to Eric's blood no doubt. I squeezed my eyes tight to clear them. The idiot. He'd given me more than he could spare.

I rinsed my hands and wrist clean, sacrificing another towel to pat the wound dry. I managed to wrap my wrist tightly and tie the scarf with one hand and my teeth. I pulled my cuff down over it to hold the makeshift bandage in place. I’d dress it properly later.

I was straight back to Eric. No change. I bit my lip and looked at his oddly twisted leg. Okay. I could set it straight, that would help right? I knelt by his foot, putting my hands on his shin to feel for the break… Fuck! I jumped back.

That was … not right. What was…? I leant forward and tugged up his pants leg exposing … metal?

Ohmygod! I covered my mouth, trapping a yell. I slammed my eyes tight shut and spent a minute just getting myself under control.

I opened my eyes, and braced myself. This time I pushed his pants leg smoothly up to his knee in one go. Prosthetic leg. He'd lost his lower leg from just below his knee.

Right. Okay. I nodded grimly to myself once, reinforcing my resolve.

The contraption was digging in to him, so I grasped it firmly, and pulled, twisting it into roughly the right position. He didn't stir. I pulled his pants leg back down, checked the shoe was on properly. It looked better. I could almost pretend he hadn’t lost half a leg.

When I looked up to his face from between his feet, something seemed off. I stared. The way his loose sweat pants were draping between his legs… the lay of it was… I swallowed rapidly, appalled, and looked away, unexpectedly fascinated by the front door. I felt hot and cold chills on my neck and I breathed slowly. I was not going to faint, no sirree, not me.

These weren’t injuries from a fight.

I shuddered at a flashback of sharp silver teeth and a snatch of cruel laughter.

He’d been tortured.

Once I was together again, I moved up and sat beside his shoulder, stroking his hair off his face. It was wild and tangled, and was that a bug?

My eyes filled again. He flew here. He flew in this state.

I sniffed, reaching blindly for his hand and taking hold of it gently in both of mine. I looked down at the unfamiliar texture. Oh, leather gloves again. Strange.

As I absently stroked his palm, I looked across his body to his right hand. Something about the odd position of that hand connected with the stiffness of the fingers I was touching, and an uneasy suspicion grew. I gently felt along the index finger I was holding. There was a noticeable change partway.

I moaned softly. No, not his fingers too. This was too much.

And why wasn't he waking up? I didn't know what else to… Fuck! You complete idiot, Sookie! Pam, Pam.

I scrambled my phone out of my pocket, wiped my eyes roughly, and dialled.

…

She spoke before I could, over the whine of a car changing gear.

“Sookie? Are you alright? Is Eric with you?” She was as panicked as I'd ever heard her.

I wasn’t much better. I gabbled, “Pam, thank goodness. I’m fine – it’s Eric. I cracked my head on the bath, and Eric found me and healed me or I would've died. Lord knows why he was here, but I'm awful glad he was, and now he's lying on my hall floor looking deader than ever, not moving, not anything, even after I gave him blood and oh God, I don't know what to do–”

Pam interrupted sharply. “Sookie. Stop rambling.”

“Sorry,” I gasped.

“Thalia will be arriving soon. Invite her in. I'll be there in ten.” The call ended abruptly.

Okay. Let Thalia in.

I opened the front door, peering out into the night. I felt a void at the edge of my range approaching fast and called her name into the dark quietly. A silent form blurred from the woods to my left. Then Thalia was standing at the foot of the porch steps dressed head to toe in black. Ninja chic looked good, who knew.

She’d crossed the outer ward, so she meant me no harm. Tonight anyway. An idea tickled at my awareness then, but I was too distressed to spare it any attention.

“Thalia, please come in and help Eric,” I urged.

She nodded and padded lightly up onto the porch and past me into the house, looking grim. I left the door ajar for Pam, and joined her.

She knelt over Eric and lifted his eyelids to look at his eyes, looked in his mouth, pinched his shoulder. She sat back on her haunches and said, “He needs Pam. You fed him?”

“Yes. I found him like this about –,” I checked my phone. “About quarter of an hour ago.” I was surprised. It felt like longer. “Is he going to be alright?”

She shrugged.

My eyes filled. I looked away from her and shifted my weight. I felt a tear fall, and tried to wipe my face surreptitiously.

“He saved my life tonight,” I whispered.

“I smell his blood in you,” she sneered. “Fool.”

An unsettling idea took root and bloomed rapidly: if having his blood made me a fool, did he give it to tie me to him? Was I a pawn in some bigger political game for him? “I didn't agree to it. I was unconscious!” I said defensively.

She looked at me like I was something she'd stepped in. “He is the fool. Wasting blood he needs on you.”

Oh. I didn't have an answer for that. Not one that would be wise to give when I was alone with a volatile vampire. I held my tongue.

I looked at Eric instead, pensively biting my lip. The uncomfortable silence stretched painfully. Where was Pam? Thalia stood like marble, impassive. I fidgeted under her hard stare. I went to the door to look out, and came back. I paced a little.

Then suddenly a car roared up the drive and skidded to a halt, spraying gravel. Geez Louise, my poor driveway. I wished people would take it easy with all these dramatic entrances and exits.

Before I'd even finished that thought, the front door slammed open and Pam was in the house cradling Eric's head just as I had done, fangs down tearing her wrist open, careless of her tailored business suit. Blood gushed and she fed him, roughly squeezed his throat in a pumping motion, forcing her blood into him. I held my breath. After a while, she tore her wrist again. His cheeks were filling, I was sure.

Abruptly Eric pulled away from her and shot back against the wall, crouched defensively and looking absolutely terrified. His eyes were wild, darting everywhere, and he was muttering something over and over.

Pam sealed her wrist and inched towards him, speaking softly in the same tongue. I caught his name.

His eyes snapped to her. He lunged to grab her arm and said urgently, “Find Sookie. They brought her here. Find her Pam. Find her.”

Pam took his arms cautiously and shook him gently. “Eric, it’s over. We're in Area 5, Sookie's house.”

Thalia tugged at my elbow. “Come, let them alone.”

She tugged me again when I didn’t move. I pulled away from her and asked her fiercely, “Did that bitch Freyda do this to him?”

She gestured sharply, and after a last glance at Pam and Eric I let her pull me into the living room.

“Well, was Freyda responsible?”

She snorted, as if that was a ridiculous idea. “No. Not that _child_.”

“Then who?” I pressed.

“Her wife.”

“What?” I was so shocked I sank onto the nearest couch. “What wife? She had a wife?” I said in confusion.

She looked at me coldly and nodded once.

I … She …Nope. Did not compute. Not at all.

I gaped at Thalia, stock still, a hazard for unwary flies.

…

There were raised voices from the hallway a few minutes later. Then Eric limped doggedly into the living room, jaw tight, not making eye contact with anyone. Pam came in, shaking her head behind him.

He stumbled, and she was at his side. She actually lifted him, and in a blink had manhandled him onto the other couch. He glared at her ferociously, and she ignored it. Without preamble she knelt in front of him, pulling up his pants leg. Her nimble fingers began to work on the prosthetic device. Eric hissed at her, then stared daggers at my ceiling as if it was personally responsible for this indignity. With a speed that spoke to her familiarity with the task, Pam had everything fixed and set to rights in no time.

Yeah, it was no surprise to find he wasn’t a good patient. Eric never liked looking weak. I’d been fussing with the cushion next to me to give him a sense of privacy, but I looked up when Pam spoke. She was still kneeling at his feet, arms crossed.

“So, on the list of the most stupid things you've ever done, we have a new winner,” Pam scoffed. “No-one is supposed to know where you are.”

“You could not be reached. And you were too far away to help.” He gestured angrily at me. I tried to become one with the couch and pretended I couldn’t hear them. I didn't want to get in the middle of this.

“So, what – you just flew out here, without any back-up?” she said in disbelief.

“I took all the blood we had before I left,” he said sullenly.

“Well, it wasn't enough,” she snapped. “How many doses did you take? I could feel how intoxicated you were from Alexandria.”

Huh? She'd lost me there. Did I miss vamp-Vicodin hitting the market or something?

“Three. As Ludwig suggested.”

Ah. Special vamp drugs from the supe doctor, gotcha.

“And did you forget she said it would have a cost? Just like you forgot to factor in what it would do to you flying here and donating – how much blood?”

He glared at her and snapped something in another language.

She said something back, her voice catching.

Whatever he saw on her upturned face, it made his eyes softened. He reached down and squeezed her shoulder. She put her hand on his for a second.

I felt as awkward witnessing the intimate gesture as I had moments earlier when Pam was tending to his leg.

After a pause Pam drawled, “I don't suppose you'd have stayed put and behaved even if I left you chained in silver.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he raised an eyebrow at her. “That has been tried. Recently.” Ouch, that must be a sore point right now.

“Too soon?” Pam quipped. They were joking about it?

“After seeing you bathed in the blood of my enemies? No. Never.”

They all chuckled at that. I didn't – guess you had to be there. Or own a pair of fangs. I winced, remembering the holes in his gums. No, I definitely wasn’t laughing. Too soon for me.

Pam stood, straightened her pants, and crossed to the mirror over the fireplace, taking out an actual embroidered handkerchief to blot her eyes carefully. She rarely cried. She must have really feared for him. All at once I wanted to hug her, but that was a sure-fire way to start a woman crying again so that was the last thing she'd want. And Pam was never much of a hugger anyway. I gave her reflection a weak smile instead.

She met my eyes and nodded slightly, but didn't smile back. “Sookie, I take it Tara didn't show today?”

“No, she was busy. She has responsibilities Pam.” She had a business and a family to take up her time after all. I pushed the familiar twinge of envy aside.

“And you didn't call anyone else to help? Your brother, perhaps?”

“Oh, I didn't wake up until late and I didn't want to bother anyone. I was fine. Hitting my head was a freak accident.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You're a terrible liar, Sookie. You needed help and you know it.”

“Too proud to ask,” Thalia butted in rudely.

I didn't appreciate her two cents, and turned to say so, only to find she was looking archly at Eric. So I kept my mouth shut. The look he gave her back pretty much covered what I was about to say anyway, and his STFU-and-die glare was much more likely to work on Thalia than anything a mere ‘blood bag’ like me could dish out.

Pam turned from the mirror to watch their stare down with a wry smile. Then she sighed and turned to me.

“Sookie, if you could just avoid getting kidnapped or arguing with the indoor plumbing for the next few weeks that would be wonderful.”

“I'll try,” I said drily. Like any of it was my fault. Well, maybe the knock out round with the cast iron tub: I should have phoned someone more reliable than Tara to play nursemaid. Hindsight sucked, but no way was I admitting that Pam was right out loud.

Eric suddenly hunched over, fists clenched and Pam took a step towards him. After a few seconds he slumped back, even paler than normal, eyes closed. He said something in Norse again.

“We need to g–” Pam stopped mid-sentence and Thalia disappeared into the hall. Eric cursed quietly, opening his eyes, and straightening his posture to give off an air of relaxed strength. It cost him. I could see the strain around his eyes, and in his jaw.

Pam perched on the arm of the couch next to him and Thalia came back in to stand on his other side, saying something I didn’t catch. I realised they were prepared for company as I heard a familiar engine on the drive.

My stomach fell to my socks.

Sam.

…

I guess once he saw Pam’s car and the open front door he decided to pulled up at the front, not the back like usual. That deprived me of crucial extra seconds to prepare.

I managed to stand and make it almost to the hall doorway in the time it took Sam to bound onto the porch and into the house at full speed, calling my name. When he came barrelling into the room, my thoughts were still stuck in a loop: ohshit-ohshit-ohshit.

He grabbed my arms and looked me over, talking fast. “Calvin called me this afternoon, said you’d been hurt. I drove straight back. What the fuck happened? Are you all right?”

Suddenly he stiffened, let go of me and stepped around me to see into the room. He tensed when he saw our company, and growled, “What the fuck is he doing here?”

I started to reply with, “Now Sam, I’m fine, everything’s fine, just calm down and I’ll –”

He spun back around to me, eyes narrowing and he inhaled sharply. He snarled, “No fucking way.” And with that he sprang across the room towards Eric.

I screamed, “Sam, stop!”

A blur shot to intercept him, forcing him violently back across the room to thud against the wall. Thalia had him pinned by his neck while he growled and struggled. She shook him none too gently and said, “Be still or I snap your neck, shifter.”

“Please Sam, please stop!” Thank God, he seemed to hear me and realise the danger he was in. He stopped fighting her hold, and although his eyes were a strange tawny colour, he stayed human.

She watched him carefully for a few seconds. Then she let him go and stepped back, gesturing me to him. Hey, I wasn’t waiting for her permission, but I’d learnt the hard way not to get in between supes in tense situations.

I was over next to him then, patting his arm. He was breathing heavily and he didn’t take his eyes of the vampires. I spoke soothingly. “It’s okay, Sam. It’s okay. Yesterday my ankle got twisted is all. Tonight when I got up it gave way on me and I fell. Hit my head. It was real serious honey, real serious. It was lucky Eric stopped by at the right time.”

He glared at Eric and I could feel waves of aggression coming from him. “So he’s back five minutes and he’s already dragging you into vampire shit and getting you hurt.”

“Eric was not involved in the incident yesterday,” Pam said evenly.

He spat back at her, “But you were – which is the same fucking thing. And I had to find out that _my wife_ was hurt from Calvin Norris.”

Pam regarded him levelly. “ _Your wife_ said it was her responsibility and she would call you. I have no desire to play go-between for the pair of you.”

“Sam, it’s my fault. I meant to call –,” I started.

“Don’t you dare apologise!” He shut me down, then yelled at Pam. “You should have called me yesterday! She’s my damn responsibility.”

“Now you stop right there, Sam Merlotte. I’m a grown woman and I’m no-one’s responsibility but my own.” My voice rose and I was close to growling myself.

Sam rounded on me. “Yeah, really? Well you’re doing a great job of looking after yourself! I come home and you reek of his blood!” He flung his arm out behind him towards Eric.

Sam’s red, angry face was inches from mine and I could feel my own anger flare, a retort about his long absence already burning my tongue when Eric’s voice lazily interrupted.

“As riveting as watching this scene of… domestic harmony may be, we have to leave.”

Sam snapped, “You owe me an explanation first, bloodsucker.”

“Sookie has video on her phone. That should suffice.”

“Fucking typical. Swoop in, mess up her life, and then disappear the second things get tough.”

Eric narrowed his eyes and said curtly, “One might ask where you were when she needed help.”

A growl ripped from Sam’s throat. As he tensed to spring again, Thalia put herself in front of Eric. Then, before Thalia and Sam could get into it again, a sound I hadn’t heard for over three years froze them both.

With a loud pop as his only herald, as was his wont, the tall figure of my fairy great-grandfather appeared in the middle of the room.

…

That would be Niall, prince of the sky fairies, and enigmatic ruler of the mysterious fairy realm. He was a fairy of dubious motives, who never gave me a straight answer unless he had to, and a royal pain in my too-human-for-his-world butt. And yes, I was shocked by his sudden arrival. The portals to his realm had been shut for over three years as far as I knew.

He would pick tonight to pop back into my life, I thought darkly. And he would arrive as elegant as ever in a pristine black velvet suit, every long blond hair in place, when I was in sweats and probably looked like I’d been dragged through a bush backwards. Flippin’ fairies.

Niall swivelled to look between Sam and me, and the vampires, taking in the air of tension and Sam’s coiled stance. “Be still shifter,” he warned curtly.

He turned to me and said warmly, “Good evening, Great-granddaughter,” his dazzling smile producing deeper wrinkles around his eyes than I remembered. “It is an unexpected treat to see you again. Are you well?”

“Niall. I didn’t expect to see you again either,” I said cautiously, not smiling. I added for politeness, “I’m fine, how are you?”

“Busy. We will have a longer talk another time, Sookie. Tonight I am here to speak with the Sheriff and my time is short.”

Uh-huh. Not a social call then. He turned to the couch and immediately his friendly demeanour became commanding. He exchanged nods first with Eric, and then Pam. Thalia did not relax, watching Niall like a hawk.

“Sheriff, I am informed Sookie was kidnapped by an FBI agent yesterday.” Sam shot me a worried look.

Pam raised an eyebrow, but answered. “Yes, that is correct. She was taken mid-afternoon, and I returned her personally last night. The situation is resolved. Might I ask who informed you?”

“A mutual friend of ours I believe.” Niall gestured to Eric, who looked thoughtful, then nodded as if he understood. Perhaps it got easier to decipher Niall's cryptic answers the longer you knew him, I mused. Then Niall’s next words left me stunned.

“The guards at fault will be reprimanded, perhaps replaced, I suppose?” Naill asked deferentially.

Pam didn't hesitate to answer, “At my discretion, yes.”

“Of course. Good,” Niall said, giving her a nod of respect. “You have proved capable, Sheriff.”

Pam looked faintly irritated at the compliment.

I looked between the two of them. “What guards? What are you talking about?” Sam flinched beside me, and I turned to him uncertainly. “Sam?”

He wouldn't meet my eyes. “Later, Cher, later,” he whispered. Oh, hell yes. We would have words later.

Niall asked Eric with surprise, “She is not aware of the arrangements for her security?”

Eric shrugged, and looked to Pam who deliberately looked at me, her blue eyes clear and guilt-free as she gave Niall a curt no in reply. She flicked her gaze to Sam, and back to me, and her implication was clear: Sam knew. Yep, my husband sure had some ‘splaining to do later.

Niall must have caught that brief look from Pam too, because he frowned at Sam. “What happened tonight shifter? I felt Sookie was in danger earlier, but it passed.”

I held back a snort, thinking that the fairy radar was all very well, but my kin were always a day late and a dollar short when I needed them.

Sam flushed. “I don’t know…” He cleared his throat. “I just got here.”

Both Niall's eyebrows raised in surprise. Then he held his arms out to me.

I stepped forward to accept the offered hug, smelling flowers and fruit as my cheek brushed the soft fabric of his suit. Before he let me go he held me at arm’s length for a moment, scrutinising me carefully, head tilted to one side. I stepped back towards Sam when he released me.

“You healed her, vampire.” His tone was neutral but he was watching Eric closely.

Eric's face was impassive. “Yes. Her breathing was compromised when I found her. A skull fracture.”

Niall's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and a hint of menace coloured his voice. “Does she know you have had her blood this night? Did you take from her wound while she could not refuse?”

I suddenly remembered Niall had once offered to kill Eric for me; I had to explain before this got ugly.

As Sam growled behind me, Eric frowned slightly and answered firmly, “I did not drink from her.”

I butted in over them both. “Yes. Yes, I know, but Eric doesn't.”

Niall silenced Sam with a glance and queried incredulously, “The vampire doesn't know?”

Eric sat forward looking at me intently.

“No. He was ... passed out when I gave him my blood. He didn't wake up until Pam fed him hers.” I pulled up my sleeve to reveal my pretty silk bandage. “I had to cut myself, he was out cold.”

Niall's expression softened fleetingly. “I see,” he said, and turned to Eric. “You saved her life. Once again I am in your debt.” He added thoughtfully, “You did not seek her blood. Do you wish to remove the blood connection begun here tonight?”

Oh. I hadn't thought of that, but it would be …

Wait. He wasn't asking me, he was looking at Eric.

What the crispy fuck? He should be asking me, I thought resentfully. _I_ was his kin. He was supposed to protect _me_ , not take Eric's side over mine: what if Eric wanted to keep the connection and I didn't? Didn't I get any say in it?

Eric blinked in surprise at the offer. He looked down, staring at the floor while those of us that breathed waited with baited breath for his decision. The set of his shoulders tightened and he looked up to meet Niall's gaze steadily. He nodded once. I couldn't read his expression.

Niall took my wrist, gently loosening the scarf and exposing the wound. “I will heal this for you momentarily,” he said as he took a vial from his pocket uncorking it with his teeth. I gasped as he reopened the cut, deftly turning my wrist and catching the blood in the small receptacle. He capped it, and hovered his hand above the wound. I felt warmth and watched as it knit together like a closing zip, leaving a reddened scab behind.

“That is as much as I can do. Healing is not my gift,” he said modestly. I was still impressed.

Without warning, without even a glance to aim, Niall threw the vial straight at Eric, who moved too slowly to catch it, fumbling and knocking it towards the floor. Pam moved in a flash to snatch it out of the air and shot Niall a glare as she tucked it safely into her jacket pocket. Eric sat back with a stony expression.

“I trust that is enough. You know the ritual?” Niall looked between the vampires.

Pam looked uncertain, but Thalia and Eric gave decisive nods.

Niall cocked his head at Eric. “You are injured. Severely. Tonight cost you dear.”

Eric stared at him levelly, and Thalia hissed in warning.

“I will arrange a healing. I trust that will be sufficient to cancel the blood debt I owe you. Ludwig will be in touch.” He bowed deeply to Eric.

Eric's eyes widened in surprise, but before he could reply there was another loud pop and Niall disappeared.

Well, that was one dramatic exit that didn't damage the gravel I thought grimly, a little disappointed that I didn't even rate a goodbye.

Pam covered her surprise by snorting. She shook her head. “Fuck a zombie. Nice to see he hasn't lost his sense of self-importance. Capable? Of course I'm capable – as if I need a pat on the fucking head from him. Asshole.”

Eric let out a chuckle that ended in a groan. He slumped over again, muttering urgently in another language, something like a mangled version of 'home' so I got the gist.

Pam helped him up, saying briskly “We're leaving. Keep out of trouble, my favourite breather.”

Sam snarled quietly at that. I shot him a scowl – that was a term of endearment from Pam and I was fond of it. Mr Sensitive could just unbunch his underwear.

Unfortunately my harsh look was the last straw for my husband. The vamps were already high-tailing it out of the room, but that didn't stop Sam. He spat out, “Damn straight you're leaving. I rescind your invitations Eric, Pam, Thalia.”

I gasped as the three of them were pulled towards the front door, and whirled on him. “Samuel Merlotte, that was downright ugly! There was no need, they were already leaving.”

I heard a loud thud and the skitter of stones. I hurried out onto the porch after them to see Eric sprawled on the gravel. He was shrugging off Pam's help. Thalia stood at the bottom step spitting mad, fangs down and glaring at me. I stopped where I was, raising my hands apologetically.

I heard Sam in the doorway behind me, but I couldn't tear my gaze from Eric. He struggled to his feet, obviously in pain, and limped slowly towards Pam's Audi. He didn't look back. Pam held the rear door open and somehow he folded himself into the dark car. Pam whipped to the driver’s seat, calling to Thalia.

“Ungrateful coward,” Thalia spat at Sam. She literally spat too. It landed at his feet with a wet slap, punctuating her words like a full stop. He’d dodged backwards just in time.

Pam honked her horn and began to drive away.

Thalia looked at me with an evil glint in her eye. “The dog needs a shorter chain. He smells of another woman.”

With her parting shot of shit flung, she sped away into the night with a cackle.


	9. Bad to Worse

I didn’t look back. My pride had taken quite enough tonight.

I was too weak to levitate. Every step drove a hot poker into what was left of my shin.

I pulled myself gratefully onto the Audi’s back seat. Pam shut the door and I curled into a ball. Thank fuck she had tinted windows. I couldn’t hold it together a second longer.

When Pam drove off, I felt every rut and hollow in the gravel. I gritted my teeth to stay silent.

Pam stopped the car at a rap on the window. Thalia opened the passenger door and spared me a cursory look.

“He might need more blood. I’ll drive.”

“Fuck no. Get in.” Pam cast me a glance over her shoulder.

Thalia slammed the door behind her and the car shot forward. Judging by the whine of the engine I looked like death. I felt Pam’s fear clearly, our connection made stronger by her gift of blood. I couldn't reassure her, it was taking everything I had not to cry out.

I rolled over awkwardly to face the seat-back for a little privacy. Waves of pain washed over me. Mentally I recited sagas, counted in French, then German. Anything to keep my focus off the excruciating throbbing in my leg, mouth and hands.

I began losing time. My vision faded in and out, and sounds distorted as if I had plunged underwater. I caught snatches of quiet conversation, and struggled to make sense of it, grasping at the words to stay afloat.

“… ungrateful shifter … want him dead? … tempting, but not …”

“…treated like chattel, nothing changes … stay out of it … smelt it on him … you told her? … won’t be grateful … don’t care, foolish child …”

“… tense situation … jockeying for position … too much upheaval …”

…

Pam shook me, calling my name. I groaned, tasting my own blood. Hands gripped my shoulders and tugged me out into the night head first. The cool air revived me and I held onto Pam, blinking as she pulled me to my feet besides the car.

We were home.

I was weak, maybe as weak as I'd been when I left Oklahoma, my recovery knocked back. Shit. And my wounds were reopening. Pam was right, I hadn't considered the cost. It had been centuries since I’d had to accept such limitations. I’d been careless.

I leant against Thalia while Pam unlocked the door. I tried to walk, but Thalia supported most of my weight into the house and down into the safe room. She deposited me on the bed, propping me up against the headboard.

Pam grabbed the tub of ointment and headed into the bathroom calling, “I spoke to Ludwig. She recommended a bath with this stuff and lavender oil.” I heard water running a second later.

Thalia knelt, removing my shoes. Then she stood, tugging my gloves off gently. She grimaced at the oozing red stumps. Blood had seeped from the scars on my torso, sticking my sweater to me. She grasped the front of it and ripped. She peeled the shredded remains off me clinically.

I gathered myself. When she reached for my pants, I pushed her hands away.

“No. Pam.” My voice was hoarse.

Her eyes flicked up to mine for a moment, her expression carefully blank. Then she nodded, breaking eye contact. She stepped back and bowed deeply.

“Your will is strong, Norse man. You have my sword when you need it.”

I blinked in surprise. Most vampires our age despised the weak and crippled. But Thalia was never one for blindly following the herd.

“Your sword is always welcome,” I croaked, dipping my head to her in respect, touched.

I smelt lavender strongly and the water shut off in the bathroom. Pam emerged carrying a silk robe.

Thalia nodded to Pam and left.

With Pam’s help I stood and slipped on the robe. Wordlessly she emptied my pants pockets, and carefully tugged the stained sweats down over my hips. I sat so she could remove them, and then the dagger still strapped to my good leg, and lastly the prosthesis. The socket that cradled my stump was sticky with congealed blood.

She picked me up gently and carried me through to the tub, lowering me into the steaming water still in the robe. I groaned at the heat. Red tendrils of blood curled into the water. Pam grabbed the open tub of ointment, scooped out a greasy handful and dropped it in by my foot. She repeated the action and I lifted my head off the tub. “How much?”

“Ludwig said all of it.”

Fuck. I let my head fall back. She scooped the rest of it hurriedly into the water. I braced myself while she stirred it in, and slid down so only my head was above the water, reluctantly taking my hands from the sides of the bath and submerging them too. My stump began to sting.

A minute later every injury was on fire and I was snarling, blinking away red tears. Pam came to sit at my head, laying her head on her arm on the tub above me. She stroked my hair, humming quietly underneath the echoing snarls. Her tears dripped onto my shoulder.

…

Once the wounds had resealed she left me on the bed in a towel.

She came back a few minutes later with warm blood for us both. The blood helped. The pain was down to a dull throbbing, laced with a bone-grinding fatigue. I looked at the little potion bottle longingly, but she shook her head.

After a pause she said, “Thalia is ready to sever the tie if you wish.”

“Let’s get it over with.” I could barely feel Sookie over the pain. Better to lose it now.

Upstairs, I sat on the couch in a clean robe. If the sight of my mutilated hands and stump bothered Thalia, she didn’t show it. On the low table between us she had placed a dagger and a silver bowl, a small mound of salt waiting ready inside it.

Pam passed the vial of Sookie’s blood over and watched with curiosity as Thalia emptied it over the salt. I took the dagger in my less damaged hand and cut my right palm, allowing the blood to drip into the bowl.

When the cut sealed, I stirred the slushy mixture with the dagger tip, saying three times in Norse, “ _Untie this knot, unmake this bond, I will it so_.” I didn’t know if the words were essential, but they gave me a focus for my will.

The mixture glowed slightly. Then, with a quiet wumph and a puff of black smoke, it burnt instantly, leaving behind a charred stinking mess.

“Fuck a zombie!” Pam was a little surprised. Thalia smirked at her.

“It worked?”

“Yes, Pam, it worked,” I said, with regret and a little relief, both mine.

Feeling Sookie’s resentment when Brigant so tactfully pointed out that we were connected had been bad enough. I had no wish to continue to feel that, or worse, feel her feelings towards the shifter.

…

Pam settled me into bed. She sat, smoothing the covers.

“I must feed. Thalia will keep watch. I'll be back with more blood.”

“Good.” Her fingers traced a figure of eight on the fabric. I felt her indecision; she was reluctant to leave. I decided to give her reason to tarry, and myself a distraction.

“So, tell me about the new regent, TRex as you so delightfully call her.”

“Teresa. Teresa Genetti. She's six, maybe seven centuries. Italian. Brunette, brown eyes. Very sexy.”

I raised an eyebrow.

She grinned at me. “She wouldn't be interested in you. She prefers women.”

I smirked back. “I wasn't asking. What is she like to work for?”

She became serious. “Better than Victor. I know, that's not saying much. She's efficient, not personally ambitious as far as I can tell, competent. She is a little … officious.”

“How so?”

“Teresa has a thing about punctuality. I got an earful for being eight hours late last night. Thank fuck she was still in Alexandria so I didn't mess up her precious schedule. She hates that.” She rolled her eyes. “And she hates cell phones. They have to be off for meetings. We ran almost to dawn last night, and I didn't have time to borrow a charger. That’s why you couldn't reach me.” She felt guilty.

I shrugged. “It worked out.”

“Eric, I couldn’t even tell where you were, you could have–”

I squeezed her hand. “You got there in time.”

She shook off her regret and said, “Only just. I thought the bitch wasn't going to let me go. I almost gave **her** a dressing down. That would have been … risky. She has no sense of humour.”

“Efficient, inflexible, no sense of humour…”

“Yes,” she nodded, “She reminds me of Karin at times.”

We were both silent for a minute, lost in memories.

I cleared my throat. “So, Sookie's guards … can't access the house? That was a problem.”

Pam fiddled with the bedding again. “It was the only way the shifter would agree to them. He demanded privacy. Only he or Sookie can issue invites, and the guards aren’t to come within earshot of the house without a reason.”

“And her friends who have access?”

“We're not to contact them. She'd know, even if they were glamoured to forget she would suspect. He was adamant she remain unaware of the guards.”

I frowned. “Surely her brother knows who frequents her woods?”

“Yes, he’s aware. But the shifter spun some bullshit about giving weres a safe place to run, and Bill having vampire visitors. Calvin ordered Jason to keep it quiet and stay out of the woods. Luckily he isn't particularly curious.” She winced guiltily. “And I may have been persuaded to glamour him not to think about it around his sister.”

She continued quietly, “Jason knows the house is protected, so he wasn’t too worried. Amelia and her coven put up powerful wards.” She snorted. “They all think that was the shifter's idea. He’s kept it all from her. I imagine the shit hit the fan once we left.”

I remembered how angry the shifter had been. I shifted uneasily.

“He won't hurt her?”

She said gently, “You know you can’t interfere.”

“No. I know.” I was quiet for a minute. “But he treats her well?”

Pam looked away. She traced a triangle over and over. “I can’t say.”

“Pam?”

She stilled her hand, and spoke evenly. “She stopped calling two months after you left. I found out she was engaged from Bill. We didn’t speak again until she called out of the blue last New Year. Since then we’ve met four times. She talks about clothes, gossip, bake sales. She keeps it very … casual.”

That was worse than I expected. I’d hoped they would remain close. It also explained Sookie's guilty reaction when I said she hadn’t visited this house.

I could feel Pam's sadness. I tugged on her hand, pulling her down beside me, back to me. I wrapped my arms around her. “I'm sorry,” I whispered, squeezing her gently.

She shrugged, as if losing a friend didn't matter. After a minute she relaxed against me.

We lay like that for a while, until I had a thought. “Pam, why did she come here on Thanksgiving? What did she want from you?”

She pulled out of my arms and sat up, facing away from me. “Girl talk, Eric,” she reminded me firmly.

“Not even a hint?”

She got up, readying herself to leave. She picked up her phone, mulling it over, and I felt resolve tinged with sadness. “I won't break her confidence. But I'll tell you one thing.”

She squeezed my hand and bent to kiss my hair. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. She sped to the door, and spoke without looking back.

“She wants children.”

Oh. I felt an ache in my chest.

…

_She was a bold one. Her face was unfocused, the memory worn away by the erosion of centuries, but her hair gleamed red-gold in the sun. She wouldn’t let anyone else comb it, only me, and she laughed when I chased her._

I could still remember her laugh. I had loved her fiercely; missed her the most when Ocella took me.

My daughter.

I couldn’t begrudge Sookie that. Neither of us had mentioned children. It had been so long … I hadn’t even considered she might want that. I would have … what could I have done?

Found a way to give her that, despite the danger of my world, my position? How?

If I stepped aside, allowed another to have that with her, have a connection with her that I could not, while I waited for her…

No, I wouldn’t have. Not if I had any say in it. I would not have let her go willingly.

Now, perhaps…

I shook that thought away. It didn’t matter. I’d been forced to leave her anyway. Oh, I could have dug my heels in, delayed, pissed Freyda off for a few more stolen months with her. But the way things went with Sookie …

She was so young. I was never sure she knew what she really wanted herself. What she wanted from me.

Once we were bonded I knew, thought I knew, what she felt for me; that she felt as I did.

But she didn’t. Not quite, not as deeply. When that became obvious, I felt betrayed, mislead … angry with her. But it wasn’t her mistake. My anger was misplaced.

I’d mislead myself. I had ignored everything that screamed she wasn’t planning a life with me, that she had no faith we would last. Not wanting to live together, breaking the bond, not trusting me with everything … I’d viewed it all as a challenge, a temporary hurdle.

What happened wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, unexplained. Nothing magical. It happened every day. I’d seen it often enough.

She just… stopped feeling that way. Moved on. It was common, typical even. Especially given her age, her lack of experience, our differences – all things that made it more likely.

No – I would be brutally honest. Not just differences, because I was vampire. Because I wasn’t what she wanted, could never be.

I winced. That was truer than I’d known.

I should have seen it. She never made a permanent place for me in her life.

Perhaps I hadn’t made enough of one for her in mine either, but I thought I had time. Time to wait until things were less dangerous, time for her accept to me.

I was still staring at the ceiling when Pam returned an hour later with blood. She was pink from her meal. I rolled away from her, and she quietly put things away, heated some blood for the carafe and left me in peace. I was grateful.

Eventually, the tiredness overwhelmed me and I slipped into downtime.

…

_After almost two years in Oklahoma, I fed mostly in the donor lounge._

_I preferred the less intimate setting, the more impersonal interaction. A change in my tastes that I didn’t wish to examine too closely. Like the infrequency of my sexual urges of late. Desire waxed and waned, even for vampire. I refused to read more into it._

_I’d been training guards regularly these last few months, enjoying the sparring. Nikolai had joined tonight’s session, as he often did._

_We had fed together, brunette twins giggling as they disappeared down the corridor. My guards for the night were distracted, feeding in a booth on the other side of the large room. Nikolai glanced at them and leaned closer._

“ _I spoke to a friend in Colorado. Gossip has it you were treated like a dog at the conference in Kansas, and you’re not happy in lovely_ _Okie._ _Apparently you’d welcome other options.”_

_I raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t foolish enough to comment aloud. But Nikolai was young, and careless._

“ _J-Lo might have overheard.” He grinned at his nickname for Jean-Luc. “He’s been whispering in our beloved queen’s ear. You must look content at the summit to quell those rumours.”_

_Good to know. I gave him a slight nod of thanks. Perhaps I would be allowed a longer leash. I’d wait for sunrise on that one, Freyda was unpredictable._

_It was a week since I ended Grace, so I took advantage of Nikolai’s gossiping mood to fish. “How long have you been in_ _Okie_ _?”_

“ _Oh, not long. Only four years.” Damn. Not long enough._

“ _Oh. You wouldn’t know how Boscombe got Tulsa then …” I trailed off, disappointment in my tone._

_He took the bait, and looked at me slyly. “Well … I wasn’t here for the takeover, but gossip says he was a major player.”_

“ _She trusts him with Tulsa?” Implying that was a mistake: once a backstabbing oath breaker, always one. And you keep them close._

_He shrugged. “Perhaps he demanded it. The cherry gig went to J-Lo. I trust him as far as I could walk in the sun.” He looked round and leant in, glowering under bushy eyebrows, his accent thickening. “No-one knows who is his maker. Not in database.”_

_I sat back, thinking. I’d checked the locals on the database. Jean-Luc was old enough that a missing presumed finally dead maker hadn’t roused my suspicion._

_Hm_ _m_ _. A missing maker, a clean background concealed his affiliations. He could be spying for another state. If so, he’d been in place for at least three decades, long before Freyda took the throne._

_So if his allegiance lay outside Oklahoma … was he behind the bombing attempt on Freyda?_

_He knew the security here. He was disgruntled with my presence. Was he that unhappy playing second fiddle to a much younger queen? Perhaps._

_Boscombe or Jean-Luc. Or both._

_Ah. If they’d both been instrumental in Freyda’s takeover, perhaps she’d proved less … compliant than they expected and one or both wanted her replaced with someone more favourable._

…

_I spent a fortnight subtly questioning vampires, weres and humans. I was no closer to uncovering the conspiracy. There was one avenue left: Freyda._

_Things had been strictly business between us for the last six months._

_She had become indifferent to my interactions with the donors, even been present in the lounge once or twice without reacting. Not that I was fucking them there in public, or much at all, but still. Less possessiveness from her was good. I believed she had accepted our marriage was a political device, nothing more._

_My ruse to get her alone was politically motivated, not personal. She would recognise that._

_There was a night performance of Midsummer Night’s Dream in one of the city parks. I asked casually if she liked Shakespeare and suggested we attend._

_I took her eagerness as curiosity. When she crossed the lobby wearing a designer outfit to find me in jeans and a t-shirt, I ignored the falter in her step. I assumed her flirting in the limo, the way she leant against me when the play began, was just an act for the guards._

_She followed my whispered suggestion and gave the guards a signal so we could slip away during the interval. I flew us to a quiet spot under some trees._

_She took me by surprise when she kissed me as soon as we landed._

_I pushed her away, saying irritably, “Stop it, woman. This is serious.”_

_She frowned, puzzled. “What is serious?”_

“ _I needed to speak with you. Privately.”_

_She stepped back, narrowing her eyes. “Why do you need me alone? What plot is this?” She hissed and pulled a dagger out from beneath her dress._

_I rolled my eyes. “Freyda, if I wanted you dead, that’s not going to stop me. Put it away.”_

_She glared at me. She kept the dagger in her hand defiantly, and gestured for me to speak._

_I wasted no time outlining my suspicions about the bombing._

_She paced. “So the V, the witch involvement … yes, you could be right.” She cocked her head at me thoughtfully, tapping the dagger against her thigh. “You don’t know who yet.”_

“ _No. Possibilities. But nothing concrete.”_

“ _What do you need?”_

“ _Jean-Luc, Boscombe. Tell me why you appointed them.”_

_She stiffened. “They are loyal.”_

“ _Are they? Jean-Luc is not happy about my presence. Grace was certainly involved, and she was in Boscombe’s retinue for years.”_

_She talked, reluctantly._

_Jean-Luc said he came to_ _Okie_ _from Europe. No-one had corroborated that, or identified his maker. He had been loyal to the former king. He wasn’t party to Freyda’s takeover. And it had been touch and go whether he would accept her rule or be killed. But she believed his affection for her won out, and he was now loyal to her._

_I guessed at what she left out. They were lovers before the takeover. Naturally when he became her reluctant second, everyone believed he’d betrayed the king for Freyda. That must have been galling for him if he actually swore fealty to her at sword point. Resentment over a damaged reputation could easily fester into betrayal._

_Boscombe had been knocking around the_ _south-west_ _for as long as anyone knew. He had a reputation as an assassin, and his maker had been gone over fifty years. Freyda wouldn’t say how, but Boscombe had helped her take the throne in return for Tulsa. She said she had enough dirt on him that he wouldn’t dare move against her._

_Blackmail would give him more reason to remove her, but I didn’t point that out._

_From what I’d heard, Boscombe was capricious in his judgements, played his people off against one another. Manipulative. Unlikely to stay loyal to anyone, especially a younger queen. Co-conspirators often turned on one another. He was a definite suspect._

_They both were._

_We brainstormed ways to draw them out and keep tabs on them, knowing it could take a while to catch them out. When our discussion ended, I was leaning against a tree and Freyda looked at her watch._

_She said matter-of-factly, “Now we should fuck. So the guards aren’t suspicious.”_

_Ah. She was right. “Agreed,” I said._

_She jumped at me and I caught her automatically, as her dagger plunged into the tree at my shoulder with a loud thwack. She kissed me hard, and then she ran her fangs up my neck and I shuddered. Shit, how long had it been since I fucked? I’d never responded to her like that._

_I covered by turning us, pushing her against the rough bark. She arched against me and we worked in tandem, pushing clothes aside at full speed. I shoved into her roughly, wanting to get this over with. It was fast, no finesse, but as I finished she cried out and I felt her orgasm. Damn. I rested my forehead on the rough bark for a second, while I got control of my sour expression._

_I pulled away, and she smiled broadly as I set her down. “Thank you Consort,” she breathed. “That was worth getting dressed up for.”_

_I shrugged, “Think nothing of it.” I didn’t._

_She took my arm, and we walked back to find the guards, chatting and flirting to cover our absence. I tamped down my discomfort._

_When we parted for the day, she kissed my cheek, wishing me a good rest – ‘like a dutiful wife’ she said. I held my tongue._

_Later I sat on my bed, fresh from showering her scent away. I was unsettled._

_Freyda hadn’t accepted anything; she’d been playing a waiting game. She got what she wanted tonight: I fucked her for the first time in six months. I’d lost a skirmish in our game._

_But that wasn’t what unsettled me. It was the fact we’d been on a ‘date’ of sorts. That we’d plotted together against a common enemy. And she’d kissed me good day._

_It felt … disloyal. I didn’t want to share those things with her._

_And I hated it when she called herself my wife._

…

_This was my third Halloween in Oklahoma._

_Freyda, as always, threw a big party, human dignitaries invited, everyone on their best behaviour._

_Now it was finished, the guests gone, I was headed to our fortnightly_ _tête_ _-a-_ _tête_ _to swap notes on our investigation. We used her office, which was protected against electronic surveillance._

_I’d been to Tulsa four times in the last two months, ostensibly to look over the finances. I had been accompanied of course, she didn’t trust me without guards, but spending a few nights away from the palace was welcome. I hadn’t found anything to incriminate Boscombe beyond a little skimming of his underlings’ tithes._

_Freyda was watching Jean-Luc, but her heart wasn’t in it. She hadn’t had the bitter experience of betrayal by those closest to her. I had to cajole her into putting the French vampire under surveillance this week. So far Carter’s equipment had found nothing._

_I knocked on her door, waited for her response then entered, leaving my guard outside._

“ _Good Evening, Eric. Have you eaten?” She indicated two donors on her couch. After my reaction to her at the park I made sure to feed before our meetings to maintain control, but declining her offer would be disrespectful._

_We took an end of the couch each and I pulled my donor onto my lap, preparing her neck as she giggled lustily. Freyda had bitten into her meal’s wrist already. Freyda had her eyes closed, drinking greedily._

_As I was about to bite, I felt the couch shift beside me. I turned my head, catching sight of a hand rooting urgently between the cushions. I reacted at once, dropping my startled meal onto the floor and reaching over to grab the other woman’s wrist as she withdrew a stake. I growled._

_Freyda’s eyes snapped open and she pulled her bloody mouth away from the clumsy assassin, cursing as she registered what had happened._

_An hour later, the terrified donor was whimpering quietly in the corner. She had been glamoured and couldn’t remember anything._

_Jean-Luc was standing unhappily in front of Freyda’s desk, well aware that he was under suspicion. He had picked the two women, leaving them in the office a few minutes before Freyda arrived. We didn’t know who planted the stake, but only a vampire could have done so fast enough to avoid the sweeping cameras._

_Freyda was scanning more security footage to find out who’d glamoured the woman. “There! Look at this Eric – the recording has been interfered with.”_

_I stepped behind her desk and watched over her shoulder. Nikolai and the woman entered a side room, and then the footage ended abruptly in static._

…

_I leant against the wall, watching Nikolai closely as Jean-Luc and Freyda interrogated him._

_He had struggled and sworn when the Sicilians hauled him in_ _. Once he heard the accusations and saw the tape, he paled. He se_ _emed genuinely thrown, unusually silent and thinking hard under the barrage of questions. Finally his eyes had darted rapidly around the room, looking for an exit._

_Finding none, he spoke to me in Russian. “_ I did not do this.” _He gestured at the video, “_ That proves nothing. Only that someone with skill set me up.”

_Freyda hissed at him. “Speak English in front of your Queen!”_

_He obeyed with a sneer. “You are not fit to be my Queen.”_

_Then he sprang for the desk and the stake that was still lying on it. I moved to intervene, but Jean-Luc was closer. He knocked Nikolai to the floor and snatched up the stake himself. Before I could stop him, he straddled Nikolai’s prone form, plunging the stake home. Nikolai’s snarl froze and he crumbled._

_Freyda was out of her chair, ready to fight. She took in my position and narrowed her eyes._

“ _It was_ me _you were about to defend, wasn’t it? Not your … friend?” She gestured to Nikolai’s remains._

“ _I saved you from one stake tonight. Do you doubt my loyalty?”_

_She scrutinised me for a moment, then turned to Jean-Luc. “Get someone to clean this up.”_

_What the fuck just happened?_

_Jean-Luc could have subdued Nikolai easily – better to have him alive and find out who was behind the attempt on Freyda, whether he'd been framed or not. Killing him made no sense … unless he knew something Jean-Luc didn't want revealed._

_Jean-Luc had chosen the donors, had access to the security tapes…_

…

_The crisp December air whistled by the open car window._

_For tonight's meeting Freyda had hired an ordinary office building in_ _Ardmore_ _, halfway to Dallas but still in her territory. The drive back along the I35 took just over an hour in the Ferrari. Vittorio was with me. He was the more relaxed twin, content to sit in silence as I drove. The other Sicilian, Salvatore, was garrulous with a vicious tongue, but I wasn't in the mood for his biting character assassinations tonight._

_I was frustrated._

_Oh, the business meeting with Isabel Beaumont went smoothly. Freyda would be pleased. Isabel, negotiating for Texas, had been charming and the new oil deals were advantageous for Oklahoma._

_No, I was frustrated by a casual remark. In passing, Isabel mentioned meeting Pam six months ago, adding that she was a competent Sheriff._ _I couldn't ask anything else with Vittorio listening. Isabel volunteered no further details._

_I hadn't heard from Pam for almost a year, from Karin not since I left Area 5. Karin went her own way, and we spoke infrequently anyway, but with all the intrigue in Oklahoma and my investigation stalled, I missed having Pam to bounce ideas off._

_I'd followed up some missed leads on the attack, trying to identify who was really behind the bombing. Nothing – they'd covered their tracks too well. I had been to Tulsa again the previous week, dropping in unannounced at one of Boscombe’s clubs. I found nothing, and he'd seemed relaxed._

_I was leaning more to Jean-Luc anyway. I’d reviewed the placement of the bombs with Jephson. They’d been randomly spread across the palace, but a few shaped charges had been cleverly positioned to bring down Freyda's wing. That required inside knowledge._

_Interestingly, my quarters would have survived. But with Freyda gone, the contract would force me to leave Oklahoma. The path to the throne would be clear. Jean-Luc knew that. I wasn’t sure Boscombe did._

_Vittorio radioed ahead, and the guards on the gate waved the Ferrari through. I pulled round into the carport. We were early, so I thought I'd give Freyda the good news from Isabel now. I made my way to her office, Vitto a silent shadow behind me._

_A few steps from her door, it opened suddenly and Freyda stepped out, closing it firmly behind her._

“ _Eric, you’re back early. Is there a problem?”_

“ _Not at all. I was just coming to show you the contracts,” I indicated the files in my hand._

“ _Oh, I'm on my way to dinner. Come, walk with me and give me an overview.” She slipped her arm through mine, and I played along._

_I filed away the scent I’d caught from her office. Demon. A lawyer?_

_And she was pink, she had already fed._

…

_That January Kansas hosted the full Zeus summit in his overpriced hotel._

_So far we'd had three successful nights. Oklahoma had made some lucrative business deals. A clan-wide statement supporting co-operation with the shapeshifters and human law enforcement had been signed; very forward thinking. Texas, New Mexico, Colorado and Oklahoma had formalised an agreement to pool information and cooperate against the Chosen. From a political standpoint, it was a good summit._

_Personally, Freyda had treated me with more respect. I sat beside her in state meetings, free to comment provided I deferred to her. I even attended some business meetings without her, with Vitto or Sav in tow. I was slightly disappointed Indiana was not attending, but there was no reason to think he would, or that Bartlett would bring any news of Pam if he did._

_Tonight the trade hall was packed with stands and we’d wandered through. I’d half hoped to see Bill touting his database just to break up the monotony. Then we’d worked the ballroom, allegedly networking, but mostly so Freyda could flaunt me and how ‘content’ I was at her side._

_I had been by her side for eight hours now, and the pretence was wearing thin. Dawn was just over an hour away and couldn’t arrive soon enough._

_Movement by the entrance caught my eye, and a loose group of six vampires entered the ballroom. They spread out, flitting through the crowd like a shoal of mackerel. I admired their discrete efficiency until they came to a stop centred on our position, and before our group could react a sultry dark-skinned vampire emerged from the crowd to stand in front of Freyda._

_Alabama. From Amun. What was she doing here?_

_Freyda bowed to her, and when Alabama extended her hand Freyda stepped forward to kiss it. They linked arms and turned to walk away, Alabama whispering in Freyda’s ear._

_I moved to follow, but two of the Alabama vampires blocked my path. Vitto gave me a confused look the rest of our group moved after Freyda. They weren’t stopped. What the fuck?_

“ _Let me pass,” I said firmly._

_One of them looked over to Alabama, now beaming at Freyda. He signalled and she looked back at me, her smile widening. She nodded and they stepped aside._

_I didn’t take my eyes off Alabama. As I reached them, she kissed Freyda on the cheek saying, “Until tomorrow. I cannot wait.”_

_Then she turned and left as quickly as she came, her retinue withdrawing with her._

_Freyda looked triumphant._

“ _A word, my Queen,” I said curtly, gesturing to an empty table._

_Once we were seated I hissed quietly into her ear. “We have nothing scheduled tomorrow accept the ball. What business do you have with Alabama?”_

_Before she could answer, Kansas bustled over and spoke to her. “Well, well, Nebraska is going to be bitterly disappointed with you tomorrow. We have everything in order for the ceremony, just as you asked, even with the short notice.” He looked at me, “We have the robes, the chalice and the knife. You’ve done this before, at Rhodes?”_

_I nodded automatically as the pieces suddenly snapped into place: the clandestine meeting with a demon … probably a lawyer … usually involved a contract … marriage negotiations._

_Freyda had been offered a better proposal. She would have to put me aside. I felt a huge surge of hope, but kept that reaction from my face._

“ _Do you need to see the room? Anything else for the ceremony?” Kansas asked me._

“ _No. I just need a word with the … bride.” I looked at Freyda as Kansas said good day. Her eyes were gleaming with victory._

“ _Well Freyda – trading up already?” She was welcome to that bitch Alabama._

_She smirked. “More like adding to my portfolio.”_

_My eyes narrowed. “You will have to pay the fine for breaking my contract.”_

“ _Oh, no need for that,” she said airily._

“ _The contract is very clear, there is a –”_

“ _Yes, yes,” she interrupted, “but I won’t be releasing you.”_

“ _What!” I hissed._

_She inspected her nails nonchalantly. “You’re a Consort, no kingdom of your own. There’s no conflict, no need to set you aside.” She raised her eyes to mine with an amused look. “Alabama is happy for you to remain mine.”_

_A ball of fury erupted in my guts._

_Freyda recoiled slightly as my fangs snicked down and I stood, looming over her. “Eric,” she hissed. “Don’t make a scene!”_

“ _I need some air,” I spat at her, and stalked towards the nearest door. Vitto started after me, but when I growled at him Freyda called him back._

_I shouldered my way blindly through the door, letting it slam behind me. I sped along the corridor, not caring where it led as long as it was away from Freyda. If she came near me right now I’d kill her. Which would be disastrous – I’d be hunted down and ended. That fucking contract._

_I just bet Alabama was happy. That cantankerous bitch had been desperate to get one over me for centuries. Fuck, if Freyda could keep me and marry her… I couldn’t see where that led. I was balanced on a precipice, the drop dark and unseen before me._

_A server dressed in black and white came around a corner carrying a loaded tray, interrupting my turmoil. I realised I was in a service corridor, and an idea sparked._

“ _Oh, sir, you’re not mean to be back –” I caught her gaze and hushed her with a finger on my lips._

“ _Nod if you have a phone,” I breathed just loud enough for her to hear. She did. I held my hand out for it, and she rooted it out of her bra. “Take your tray out as normal and come back this way in five minutes. I didn’t speak to you.”_

“ _You didn’t speak to me.” She walked past, disappearing towards the ballroom with her tray._

_I looked at her phone. It would have to do. I moved to an alcove, checking I was alone. No cameras back here either. I entered the number Bartlett had given me a year ago, and stopped with my thumb over the dial button._

_Fuck, what did I say? I stared at the phone, my mind suddenly blank._

_I punched the wall in frustration, leaving a satisfying dent and breaking two knuckles. I sucked the blood off as they healed, using the pain to focus._

_Once I had my message straight, I hit dial and got an answering machine: “You’ve reached The Rookery, best coffee and cakes in Fort Wayne. We’re closed for the night but you can leave a message.”_

_Hoping the name was code for either Bartlett or Pam I put on a British accent._

“ _The witch is marrying Barbara. She means to keep the axe. Unknown honeymoon destination. May be dangerous. Take extra care with the package.”_

_I felt calmer with that out of the way. Pam should understand. I deleted the call record from the phone and wiped it clean, slipping it into my jacket._

_I took out my phone. Freyda monitored it, but she would expect me to make this call and it would explain my time back here. Cataliades answered on the third ring, out of breath, a sleepy female voice in the background. Ah. Woops._

“ _Northman. It’s urgent.”_

“ _Of course, of course. One moment.” There were sounds of movement and a door closing. “What can I do for you Consort?”_

_I stifled a bitter laugh. “I need to know what the contract provides for if Freyda enters another marriage.”_

“ _She is marrying again, so soon?”_

“ _Yes. Tomorrow night. Alabama. She is refusing to release me.”_

“ _Ah. Hmm. Let me just look something up.” I could hear heavy thuds, and the rustle of paper. Then he swore softly. My heart sank. I’d never heard the demon curse._

_He cleared his throat. “Ah, it appears the original contract drawn up by your maker only specified that you could not marry another. There is no such limit placed on Freyda.”_

_Ocella. An oversight? Arrogant faith in me, believing I was all she’d ever want?_

_I cursed. Long and loud. The lawyer waited politely for me to finish. Then he checked where I was, and said he would arrive before sunset tomorrow._

_I ended the call just as the server came back. She took her phone and I glamoured her to forget I’d had it._

…

_As dawn neared we were alone in Freyda’s room, going at it hammer and tongs._

_Freyda had been smiling when we reached our suite earlier. That smile slowly disappeared as I talked. I started calmly, rationally, presenting logical reasons why she should call this off, why she should solidify her own reign before entering into an alliance with another kingdom. She refused to listen._

_Then I told her it was never going to work with me as her Consort. That there was bad blood between Alabama and me. Explained some of her past treachery._

“ _The offer was too good to refuse! She’s been after this since before I took the throne. And you know marriage is the only way to hold her to an alliance,” she said forcefully._

“ _You cannot make that slippery bitch hold to anything. You are playing out of your league.” Contempt coloured my words._

“ _Well, darling,” she said dripping venom, “that’s why I bargained to keep you around. As Consort, you will protect me.”_

“ _You are a fool if you think to outplay her. Why does she want this? What is she up to?” I grabbed her arm hard and she hissed at me._

_She pulled away angrily, and flung the door open. “Get out, or I’ll have you silvered.” She glared at me as I stalked past her._

_I stopped in the doorway and hissed quietly, “This will get you killed, Freyda. One way or another.”_

_I didn’t know what deal those two grasping, avaricious bitches had cooked up, but I was going to find out._

…

_The ceremony was due to start in five minutes. I looked at the heavy embroidered robe with distaste. Yellow and blue – Oklahoma’s colours. Freyda branding me hers for all to see, I thought bitterly._

_Cataliades had been waiting when I rose. I’d been hopeful until I took in his nervous, unhappy expression._

_He’d explained that yes, typically Consorts would be put aside for a Royal marriage. Usually the new Royal spouse demanded it, but it was just a tradition not a legal requirement._

_He reminded me that there had been a time when vampire rulers took multiple consorts as a sign of power and status. The practice of giving more than one favoured lover the title dated back before my turning, originating with vampires from Arab and African cultures where multiple marriages were common amongst human men._

_He’d also found precedents in Freyda’s favour, mostly from the Mediterranean kingdoms, in the twelfth century when consorts were very common and not always put aside for marriage alliances between two kingdoms. In one such case, two kings, Naples and Granada, had formed a marriage alliance, both keeping their female Consorts. Granada: Alabama had history there, she’d be well aware of that._

_Cataliades apologised profusely, not that Ocella’s mistake was his fault. Neither of us had thought to query why there was no clause preventing Freyda marrying again. Why would we? The practice of keeping a Consort secondary to a royal marriage had fallen out of favour centuries ago, long forgotten._

_Cataliades had lodged a protest with Freyda, but ultimately I had no legal recourse._

_A glimmer of hope had come half an hour ago._

_Freyda had left to dress, leaving me and Jean-Luc to check the room for the ceremony. Jean-Luc had fussed over the décor, while I leant nonchalantly against the wall next to the door, wishing I could leave. He began gesticulating and cursing in French at the stressed event manager, who raised his voice in turn._

_While our guards were distracted by the drama, Texas had appeared suddenly at my elbow, and quietly breathed in badly accented Norse, “_ _Muninn_ _hears you,” before starting a louder conversation about oil prices._

_Pam had understood my message. Relief._

_Shortly afterwards, Jean-Luc had ushered me into this side room to dress._

_I had no way out of this tonight._

_At least the audience wouldn’t know that Freyda meant to keep me until afterwards. I shrugged on the heavy robe, and ruthlessly supressed my true feelings, blanking my face before I walked out to take the stage._

_I was determined to conduct the ceremony with dignity._

…

_I sat against the wall, staring dully at the tub._

_I longed to shower but the welts were still healing and dawn was approaching fast. No point in messing up the bed. Rest here. Shower when I rise. Dispose of the stained clothing._

_I closed my eyes in vain against the images. Dancing with Freyda, then Alabama, ignoring the whispers as word got round. Forcing a laugh at Nebraska’s coarse jokes about having two queens in my bed – as if I wanted either of them._

_Then later. The whips. Alabama’s laughter. I shuddered._

_Alabama – Nadia al-Kahina as she called herself nowadays – was over eleven hundred. Freyda did not feel safe alone with her, and had demanded that I attend their nuptials for her protection. I refused. Then she ordered me to do it, threatening my life, Sookie, my children._

_I was furious._

_I didn’t warn Freyda that dearest Nadia was a notorious sadist, extreme even among our kind. If she was too young to have heard the stories so be it. A lesson that she didn’t know everything at her tender age was clearly needed._

_I doubted it would cure her overconfidence, but the flash of fear on her face when she saw the whips was gratifying. She managed to fake enjoyment convincingly for her new wife, but she’d been subdued on the way back to our suite. Tough. It was her own doing._

_But if she thought a little degradation at the yearly conjugal visit was the only pitfall of her new marriage, she had no idea what she’d done._

_I did. There was more to this._

_Nadia had been all too eager to include me. I bore the brunt of her whip tonight, but I knew there would be worse to come._

_Let Alabama enjoy power over me while she could. I would find a way out of this._


	10. Into the Fire

Pam woke me at three a.m. to give me more blood. I was barely aware of anything other than hunger and slipped easily back into downtime and memories of the past year.

…

_February:_

_I demanded a copy of Freyda’s second marriage contract, and it finally arrived on Valentine’s Day, her lawyer’s idea of a joke._

_Cataliades met me in one of the conference rooms and we went over it line by line. The financial clauses were standard, everything laid out precisely. The clauses on mutual support were typical. If Alabama made a move, Oklahoma would support her, and vice versa. Conjugal visits once a year. Standard clauses about inheriting each other’s states – only if no second or suitable successors survived._

_Cataliades sat back and mopped his brow with a sigh._

_Nothing. Nothing unusual. No clues here._

_Profitable Oklahoma made a good candidate for an alliance, that wasn’t suspicious. And Freyda let slip that Alabama had approached the previous king, so she coveted this particular state for some reason. But why now, with Freyda, who was an untried and untested ruler, and who insisted I remained part of the package? That didn’t make sense. I knew Alabama, there had to be more to it._

_We had history, Nadia and I._

_She was North African, beautiful and dark-skinned, a proud descendant of Berbers who had fought to conquer the Iberian Peninsula for Arab Caliphs in the seven hundreds. She was born there a century or so later, under Arab rule, in what is now southern Spain._

_The first time we met was in Italy, at one of Ocella’s houses. I was around two centuries. She called me arrogant, insulted me, taunted me, until I challenged her to impress my maker. Ocella suggested a fight to first blood. I had beaten her despite being half her age, and she took it badly._

_In Greece, about a century after that fight, I met her maker. An Arab, Tariq was cultured, knowledgeable, and taught me much. I liked him. When I realised I'd met his child, he questioned me and I admitted the meeting had gone badly. He explained that Nadia had lost her human family when Seville was sacked by Norse raiders in 844. She had witnessed men of my race brutalising her people, defiling her city. Naturally it did not predispose her to react well to me._

_Tariq had given me a piercing look then, remarking that as I was not humble man, perhaps I felt the sting of her criticisms keenly, but he believed she had judged me harshly because of something that happened long before I was born. He added we were quite alike, proud warriors always lost with poor grace – a joke at my expense. He had spent many months teaching me the finer points of chess by thrashing me soundly at the game, and more than once I’d lost my temper in frustration._

_Tariq might have softened his child’s attitude to me in time, if he hadn’t had an argument with Ocella that winter. Perhaps it was jealousy, perhaps just a fit of pique, but Ocella ended him without a second glance. That made a truce between Nadia and me impossible. I understood that._

_Fifty years later we were both in an area of northern France when a disagreement with the fae flared into open conflict. I was working for the local ruler, leading a group of six vampires. We were ambushed patrolling some woods. Only three of us survived, but we captured a fae warrior for ransom. From her we found out that Nadia had betrayed our location._

_It was one thing to pursue a vendetta against me, but to cause the deaths of three vampires, to betray us to an enemy during war – that I couldn’t tolerate. Neither could the local king. She was declared a traitor and she was forced to flee the area._

_We’d occasionally come into contact in Europe after that, parting acrimoniously each time. Several times I heard that she’d betrayed other vampires for power or money. Then she disappeared off my radar for a few centuries._

_We’d met again after she became queen thirty odd years ago, and she had been chilly, but neutral. I thought she’d finally buried the hatchet._

…

_Easter:_

_Freyda was invited to visit Alabama at her mansion on Lake Tuscaloosa. I had surprised Freyda by coming willingly into the lion’s den, but I needed to find out Nadia’s plans. If it meant enduring her whip again, so be it. I’d survived worse._

_The mansion was not Alabama’s main residence, which limited my opportunities to snoop and get a feel for her retinue. She had fewer people here. We brought equal numbers though. Even Freyda, who’d desired this match, was wary of a trap._

_Three nights later and all I’d confirmed was that Nadia definitely still held a grudge._

_She had begun her campaign to dazzle Freyda as soon as we arrived, impressing her with business deals and displays of wealth. She spun a good spiel about co-operating across clan boundaries, bringing in the southern Zeus, Amun, and Moshup states, creating a network of influence that she wanted to share with Oklahoma. And she had been a very charming, pleasant host._

_Freyda was like a child outside a sweet shop, nose pressed to the window, eyes wide and awestruck at the power within her reach. She had contained her enthusiasm, played it coy, but we were leaving tomorrow. Wanting to show willing, keep in Nadia's good graces, she decided a gift was needed._

_Under orders I had accompanied her to Nadia’s bed again. There had been a malicious gleam in Nadia’s eyes all for me._

_At least it was Nadia’s sheets I was oozing on this time. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and willed myself to look relaxed. There would be cameras._

_Mercifully I’d avoided a blood exchange. Freyda had been careful, too. Once at the ceremony was enough: I didn’t want Nadia to have more of a hold over Freyda than she already had._

_I hadn’t showered. I was determined to leave with her scent still on me, sending Nadia a message of defiance. I would not be cowed by pain or disgust; I would do whatever I had to do._

_Even if my skin crawled under her scent._

_I closed my eyes, soothed myself with memories of an old farmhouse, blonde hair and curves._

_No camera could see that._

…

_May:_

_I’d lost patience with Freyda over Alabama, and when I tried to make her see Nadia was manipulating her we’d argued. She was back to treating me coldly, and she stopped my visits to Tulsa, confining me to her ‘palace’ again. Not that it mattered much._

_I had more pressing concerns than Boscombe – a new vampire had come to town, one I trusted even less._

_Freyda was visiting her tonight: Yasmin._

_At the end of our Easter visit, Nadia had looked at the mostly male Oklahoma retinue and declared it needed a feminine touch. She sent Yasmin a week later as a ‘gift’ for Freyda. Nadia’s youngest child was maybe fifty, Iranian, dark and graceful. A linguist, she spoke several European languages. Very handy for her role._

_It was no secret Yasmin was sent to spy._

_When Yasmin was at the palace she was careful never to be alone with me. She never rested in the palace. Nadia had provided her with an expensive apartment, guards, and an encrypted phone line to Alabama. Freyda visited her there often, but I was not welcome. It gave Freyda and Nadia a secure way to speak, one which prevented me listening in on their discussions._

_And everyone else as far as I knew, not even Jean-Luc seemed to know what the queens were planning._

_I knew Nadia would have other spies too, but who were they?_

_With my freedom limited again it would be harder to find out. It wasn’t just the setback that chaffed. I found being constantly on guard, watching everyone, and being watched in return wearisome._

_I found myself longing for Fangtasia and familiar faces._

…

_June:_

_Nadia’s motives were still unknown. I admitted I was getting nowhere and swallowed my pride. I would use a little honey to win over my queen bee._

_I asked Freyda to another play in the park, fully prepared to grit my teeth, flirt and fuck her stupid if necessary, whatever it took to get her to trust me a little, as long as it took to find out what was going on. She accepted with a glint of amusement in her eyes that I ignored._

_The limo pulled up kerbside. I took her hand as she got out, and we stepped away from the open door. Salvatore was scanning the crowd from the other side of the vehicle as the others moved into position around us. Freyda turned back to say something to him and I heard the unmistakable whistle of a bullet._

_It clipped Freyda’s shoulder; blood splattering the limo beyond her. I shoved her hard, back towards the open door – the limo was bullet proof, the best protection she had – and then shot straight up into the air scanning the crowd on the lawn._

_A second shot came as she dived into the car, and as I was already scanning in the right direction I caught the flare of a gun from a nearby building. I glanced down as I dropped towards the trees. The round had hit the vampire who’d moved to slam the door closed after Freyda._

_Fuck, the bullets must be silver or wood. He’d taken a hit to the heart and was already flaking away as Salvatore leapt over the hood and zigzagged towards the shooter’s position, yelling for everyone to take cover._

_I flew towards the building, using the trees edging the park for cover as I approached. I paused briefly to check for silhouettes on the roof before I shot across the open space over the road and flew up, tight against the building, spiralling around it to arrive from the back._

_I shot above the roof edge too quick to track, hoping to surprise the shooter._

_He or she was already gone._

_I landed by an abandoned sniper rifle, alone at the scene. The barrel was hot, two shells on the ground. An equipment bag lay open nearby, abandoned. The scent of an unknown vampire – I inhaled deeply, fixing it in my memory._

_I leant over the edge. Salvatore was scaling the building, three floors down. I was about to call to him, when there was a dull thump behind me. I whirled around in a crouch to meet a wall of smoke billowing from the bag. It stank, an acrid choking smell stinging my eyes and nose, and then the cloud began falling softly onto the roof. Fuck. Covering the scent._

_Freyda was furious when we got back to the limo._

_We traced the gun to a store in the city, bought that day by a glamoured human with false ID and cash. No leads. The stink bomb had been rigged on a timer. No phone signal to trace._

_Clean job._

_We met to discuss it, and the consensus was it had to be a professional._

_I’d ordered the tickets online myself a few days earlier. I’d surprised Freyda with them near dawn the night before. No-one else knew until the night, an hour or so before we left._

_The question on everyone’s mind: how did they know we would be there?_

_Freyda looked at me with suspicion. The room went quiet. Fuck._

“ _I told no-one but you before that night. Did you tell anyone my queen?”_

_She sat back, frowning. “My maid at dawn the day before. But only to get an outfit ready, no more.” Her eyes intent on mine she added, “It’s a shame Salvatore did not catch this vampire’s scent before the stink bomb detonated.” I meet her gaze steadily; her implication that I’d set it off hanging in the air. The moment passed. “No matter. Jean-Luc, we must tighten security.”_

_Later, in my quarters, I paced, thinking._

_Freyda had my laptop bugged. Freyda and probably Jean-Luc would have known a few days ago that I’d bought tickets. Freyda was hardly likely to commission a hit on herself – although, for a professional, the shooting sucked. She should be dead. Hm. Who would benefit from a near miss?_

_Whoever planned last year’s bombing wanted her dead. So not Jean-Luc or Boscombe unless their agenda had changed._

_Nadia. Shit. Whatever she had planned, she needed Freyda. Freyda would turn to her more readily if she was threatened, especially if she suspected it was me trying to kill her. Which was not unreasonable. Fuck knows I’d wanted to snap Freyda’s neck many times, and Freyda knew that: I’d been vocal enough about my discontent since they married._

_But how would Nadia know our plans?_

_Yasmin. She’d been in the palace last night. Although she’d left before I gave Freyda the tickets, but if they had plans Freyda might have called to cancel, mentioned the play? Or Yasmin had an informer …_

_Freyda would never believe it was Nadia just on my word, not now she suspected I’d acted against her._

_Persuading her with honey had failed. Instead I’d stirred up a hornet’s nest of suspicion._

…

_August:_

_Freyda no longer trusted me. She was snippy and demanding, didn’t want me in her bed, or alone with her. Since the sniper I’d been a model consort, but she wasn’t thawing. The tightened security included curtailing my freedom and watching me every minute of my nights. It was tiresome._

_I was surprised when Freyda sent me to_ _Ardmore_ _again to meet Isabel, even with more guards discretely in place. But Texas might have realised something was afoot in the state of Oklahoma if I hadn’t come. Freyda couldn’t have that. And Freyda might be giving me a noose to hang myself, hoping to catch me in an act of betrayal._

_I noticed the emerald ring as soon as Isabel sat, opening her briefcase and pulling out paperwork._

_It was Pam’s._

_I was instantly hyper-aware of my guards. The meeting progressed normally. We swapped information on the Chosen, talked business. Then, an hour in, Isabel fiddled with the ring once, twisting it. Salvatore, the closest, didn’t react._

_She shuffled her papers, handing me a safety report on an oil spill at one of our joint refineries, apologising that costly modifications were needed. I sat back and looked over the report quickly._

_Right at the bottom of the last page, on the plastic cover in marker pen: runes. Under cover of a heated discussion over who should pay for the safety improvements, I wiped over them with my thumb. Some of the lines wiped clean as I anticipated, leaving behind an innocuous tally, scribbled sideways in haste. Simple but effective, Pam and I had used this to hide messages before._

_Salvatore took the papers after Isabel left, checking them over for messages as always before he took them to Freyda. He didn’t appear to notice anything._

_In the back of the limo later – yes, Freyda was spiteful enough to withhold the Ferrari – I thought over the message._

_Three phrases:_ **Wait. Midwinter. Battle.**

_I was to wait for the December solstice, help would come._

_Pam was the best choice I’d ever made._

…

_October:_

_Something big was coming soon. I could smell it._

_Freyda was visiting Yasmin more often, and she was tense. Her banker visited twice unexpectedly. I overheard a donor talking about some new vampire she’d met in the city, caught his scent from her and recognised it. A hard-faced, taciturn Russian I had known in St Petersburg. A mercenary._

_I needed information now._

_I couldn’t trust Carter, he reported to Freyda. I had to trust someone. Vittorio, he was the most relaxed of my guards but no, too risky. I decided on the Were, Jephson. He owed me for Ralph._

_I’d been excluded from security meetings, but I still trained weres in the gym. I took advantage of the noise, and that the vampire guards were used to us chatting. And I knew he could lip read._

“ _Do you trust Yasmin?” I mouthed, as I brushed by him to replace a sword. I stood beside him to watch the sparring._

_He was quick-witted, didn’t betray any surprise. ‘No. I think he’s improving.” He gestured at a young wolf._

“ _I need to keep an eye on that one.”_

_He looked at me for a beat, made a decision. “You need eyes in the back of your head with these cubs.”_

“ _Yes. Even I don’t have those.”_

“ _No. Only mothers do.” He watched the sparring for a minute, thinking. “I’ll bring some new equipment next time.”_

…

_A week later the wolf made good. I took my boots off to spar with the weres. Better grip on the floor. When I put them back on, I felt whatever Jephson had dropped in one, unseen by everyone else. I gave him a slight nod as we finished up; he had discharged his debt._

_I sat on my bed, and tipped my boot, catching a small well-padded package: a bug and a receiver. The bug had options. I didn’t know what security Yasmin had, so I planned to set it for a delayed recording of two hours, and then have it sit silent until I triggered a download to the receiver; safer than a live transmission from Yasmin’s apartment that might be detected. I could listen to it later in private, in my quarters._

_Now all I had to do was find a way to plant it in Yasmin’s apartment._

_A few days later some donors gossiping about Halloween costumes gave me an idea. Freyda’s dressmaker was making Yasmin a Seven Veils costume._

_The costumes arrived in Freyda’s office two nights before Halloween. Mine was a French Foreign Legion uniform, in keeping with the ‘desert’ theme. Freyda really had a thing for that. I made sure to collect it early, when her office was empty._

_I winked at Vitto. “Let’s just see what the ladies are wearing.” Chatting as I opened a few of the garment bags, I found Yasmin’s and, covering my movements from Vitto and the cameras, I put a small tear in the bag’s lining, slipping the bug inside. Then I made a show of holding up Freyda’s elaborate ‘Queen of Sheba’ costume. Vitto shook his head. “She won’t be pleased. Put it back.”_

_I shrugged and replaced it._

…

_Later that night Freyda took the costume to Yasmin’s for a fitting. It would come back to Freyda’s office for alterations because Yasmin was dressing here on the night. Perfect._

_I was casually strolling across the lobby when Freyda came back, the dressmaker carrying the garment bag. I pressed a button on the receiver in my pocket and felt it vibrate once the transfer completed._

_I headed to my quarters and listened impatiently to forty minutes of inane chatter about the party, the costumes. And then hit pay dirt. Nadia called. I only got Freyda’s side but it was enough._

‘ _Good Evening, your Majesty… Yes, everything is on track… How are things with you?... Good, good. We have to move soon, before he gets wind of it… No, no. Just suspicious… Yes, you’re right, timing is everything… Okay. I can wait. It’ll be worth it to see the look on that bastard’s face… Oh, he’ll be furious if a certain Sheriff is among the casualties… No, I don’t care about the ex; she’s totally out of the game… Oh, an asset? Perhaps, but I wasn’t that impressed… Yes… Yes… No, I’ll check that… Uh-huh. Two dozen... Yes. We’ll speak soon… Goodnight, Nadia.’_

_Fuck. I listened impatiently to the rest. Nothing else relevant. I went back to conversation, listening to Freyda’s tone carefully._

_I sat back._

_They were planning to take Louisiana._

_Freyda wanted to move soon; Nadia was holding back for the right moment. When? Before or after the solstice? Could I afford to wait?_

_Nadia would gain control of three states – possibly four, if she included Arkansas – creating a solid power base. Mississippi surrounded, squeezed on both sides. And Nadia was meticulous these days. She would be unassailable once she had loyal vampires in place._

_Nadia was the mastermind: Freyda swept along by her own ambition and Nadia’s promises of power. Was Nadia tempted by de Castro’s overextension? Or had she planned this for some time, and de Castro had pre-empted her?_

_Fuck, de Castro had weakened Louisiana by letting me go. He had to have shored up his rule by now, surely. I pulled my hand through my hair, frustrated at how little I knew about Louisiana’s defences._

_It didn’t matter. Bottom line: Pam was in danger. Sookie too. Nadia had no reason to leave her alone if she took Louisiana, the protection decrees wouldn’t stop her once she had four states. She would take her as an asset to spite me. And Freyda’s agreement to leave Sookie alone was only good as long as she needed me._

_I had to hope that Freyda was astute enough not to trust Nadia completely, and, even if she didn’t trust me, that she’d want me for protection a while longer._

_I must give her no reason to doubt me. Make myself useful, indispensable._

_But first I'd take one last risk._

_It was treason, death if I was caught, but I had to get a message to Pam._

…

_I rose early, anxious._

_Lifting the carpet in my closet, I checked the floorboards had not been disturbed, then levered up the one I'd loosened when I moved in over three years ago. I pulled out a small combination-locked fireproof box._

_I opened it, taking out one of the three unregistered phones. Turned it on, checked it over._

_I changed the combination, locked up the box and replaced it. My scent was all over the closet, it wouldn't give the hiding place away._

_I typed a summary of the situation into the phone. I created an audio file of Freyda's phone conversation, attached it to the message and programmed in the email address Bartlett had given me. All I needed to do to send it was push one button._

_I destroyed the receiver, rinsing the remains down the shower._

_At sunset, I surprised the Were guards outside my quarters. I made a joke about their snoring waking me, and then went to the lobby. Cell coverage was strong here, and it was busy. I hoped the other phone signals would camouflage mine. Phone in my pocket, I hit the button as I chatted to the receptionist, checking for deliveries._

_Then I patted myself down. I groaned. “Forgot my phone. I'll be right back.”_

_As I expected, the Weres stopped at the entrance to the wing. Slackers._

_Out of sight, I ducked into a blind spot hidden from the cameras and destroyed the phone, tipping the pieces into a large plant pot I'd relocated here two years ago. I worked the pieces into the soil thoroughly, and shoved my dirty hands into my pockets for the walk to my quarters._

_I washed quickly, changed into identical pants and grabbed my real phone._

_No-one was any the wiser._

_Later that night I picked up my costume from Freyda's office. I opened the bag to check the alterations, and whoops, dropped a glove. Bending to pick it up where it had fallen under the rack, I felt quickly along the bottom of Yasmin's bag, crushing the bug when I found it._

_No loose ends._

…

_The Halloween party wound down around 3a.m._

_Much later, I was coming out of the donor lounge when the alarm sounded._ _An hour before dawn and the day guards weren’t here yet: we were vulnerable. Vit_ _t_ _o’s radio crackled to life as I sped to the gym, grabbed a sword, and threw one to Vitto as he caught up with me._

“ _The lobby – Jean-Luc needs us there,” he said, catching it nimbly. We raced for the stairs._

_I leapt the balcony, landing next to Jean-Luc, Vitto not far behind. Four of our vampires were defending the entrance, using it as a bottleneck to keep the attack at bay. Two more were moving human bodies to the wall, clearing the floor except for bloody trails._

“ _Situation?” I asked Jean-Luc._

“ _Attacks in three places. This is the largest force.”_

“ _Freyda? Salvatore?”_

“ _She’s upstairs co-ordinating: warning the Weres, checking in with Tulsa and Lawton. Sav is defending the ballroom.”_

_T_ _he fighting at the door broke off. A younger vampire yelled and broke rank to give chase. Another fool followed._

“ _Hold position,” I roared, moving forward. One of the two remaining vampires yelled, “Machine guns!” They both ducked for cover. I threw myself to the side just as gun fire sprayed into the lobby, bullets chipping the marble floor._

_As the gunfire stopped, a wave of attackers took advantage of the clear entrance and swept into the lobby. Weres: some already shifting, dropping guns in favour of teeth and claws._

_The vampires followed their training automatically. We fell back to the wide base of the stairs, using the steps to give us a height advantage. Seven of us, thirty of them. A whole pack. Fair odds._

_I glanced at Jean-Luc beside me, bloodlust in his dark eyes and his ferocious grin mirroring mine. Vitto yelled wildly, and a volley of silver knives took down the first wolf._

_I was aware of Jean-Luc moving with the grace of a dancer on my right, taking down his opponent with a few strategic kicks and punches._ _I roared, fangs down, the joy of battle pulsing through me as I stabbed the grey wolf leaping towards me. His momentum combined with the force of my thrust carried him almost to the hilt of my sword. I cursed, about to throw off his dead weight, when a slew of bullets raked across the mass brawl at the foot of the stairs._

“ _Silver bullets,” Vitto yelled in warning as the vampire next to him took a stray bullet and dropped to one knee._

_I used the dying Were as a shield. Half the Weres were hanging back, and they had firing indiscriminately, careless of their own side. There was a break in the gunfire. I swiftly dropped my kill to the floor, bracing the now human body with my foot and pulling out the sword._

_A great gobbet of blood fountained from his chest and the smell hit me as Jean-Luc shouted out an old warning. “Le_ _parfum toxique! Merde,_ _don’t breathe! Don’t breathe.” Fae, they’d taken fae blood. That’s why they were shooting their own._

_It was too late for two of our younger vampires, already lost to bloodlust and tearing at weres on the ground. Fuck. A look passed between the three of us: me, Jean-Luc and Vitto._

_As one we leaped over the line of fallen weres and took the fight to the enemy, taking the shooters out first. I lost myself in the timeless dance of battle; weaving, swinging, dodging and slashing by instinct._

_As more blood spilt it became harder to resist the scent. I heard Vitto lose control. Jean-Luc was struggling, swearing violently in French. Finally I couldn’t hold back. The bloodlust took over._

…

_Jephson’s voice, nearby. “Fuck. It’s a bloodbath in there.” Then louder, barking sharply. “Hold it together Daniels! Don’t shift! Get those doors closed.” I heard slamming._

_I staggered to my feet, kicked a mangled corpse away from me, and wiped gore from my mouth with my sleeve. I spat, pulled my matted hair off my face, and assessed the situation. I had wounds on my shoulder, back and side, but I’d gorged on blood and I was healing rapidly._

_The sky was lightening in the arched window over the main doors. Dawn. Soon._

_Outside was quiet, apart from some muted snarls – Daniels would get a reprimand for that. I shook myself, trying to focus._

_Inside the attackers were dead, torn to pieces. Those of us who were left were drenched in blood, the rest still gorging on the fallen Weres like animals. Jean-Luc looked up when I called his name, eyes glazed for a moment until he focused on me._

“ _Dawn is coming. Snap them out of it.” He swayed as he moved to obey._

_I slipped out of the door. Jephson, to his credit, stepped forward to greet me. Some of his men flinched._

_The circular driveway was littered with broken bodies. Jephson reported in rapid-fire. His Weres had come up behind this group and attacked. No-one had escaped. Three battered humans were sitting on the grass under armed guard. He left his men tidying bodies, and followed me back inside, radioing his other units._

_I looked round. “Where’s Vitto?”_

_Jean-Luc looked over from where he was slapping the last vampire out of bloodlust. “He didn’t make it.” He nodded at a flaking corpse barely visible underneath two dead Weres. I swore softly, pushing the bodies off him. He’d fought well._

_Jephson signed off, holstered his radio, and reported, “Sir, the ballroom is secured. The windows are smashed, a couple of injuries, but that was all smoke and no bullets, meant as a distraction I reckon.”_

_I nodded in agreement. “They expected to catch more of us there still partying.”_

“ _Yeah. Seems likely. A smaller group came through the delivery entrance. A couple of kitchen staff got hurt, but they barricaded the inner door so the enemy was trapped in the kitchen area and my men mopped up. No survivors.”_

“ _Good. We have to go to rest. Can you get this cleaned up, see to the injured staff and arrange extra donors for tonight?”_

“ _That’s what you pay me for, sir.” I nodded briskly, and he went outside to marshal his men. They would have a long day ahead._

_Freyda, if she followed our plan, would be locked in her safe room. I reminded Jean-Luc to send her the all clear. The others were back to themselves, looking round groggily. It helped that dawn was beginning to pull on us._

_As the room emptied and quietened, I became aware of a heartbeat. I leant over the main desk to find a receptionist cowering underneath it. Shit._

_Jean-Luc was still on his phone, reassuring our audibly pissed queen._

_I looked around. The water cooler. I strode to it, pulling off my shirt, and ripped the barrel off the base to give myself a makeshift shower. For a towel I tore down a blue velvet drape embroidered with Freyda’s gold crest, a pointless decoration covering a blank wall – Pam would be amused I’d finally found a use for one._

_Hoping the woman wouldn’t scream at the sight of me now, I rounded the desk and crouched in front of her. Head buried in her arms, shaking silently, she didn’t see me. What was her name? Oh, yes._

“ _Tammy, it’s over. Tammy, look at me.”_

_She raised her tear-stained face, eyes wide, and gasped, “Eric, don’t–”_

_I caught her gaze and said softly, “Stop crying. You are calm, safe. You’re going home now, and you will sleep soundly all day.”_

_She sniffed loudly. “Yes Eric. Go home. Sleep.”_

“ _Good girl.” She grabbed her purse and I walked her to the door, shielding her from the room. “Jephson, make sure this one gets home.”_

_He nodded, and I sped back into the palace, racing dawn to my quarters._

…

_I rose fully healed the next night._

_I’d come in so close to dawn that I’d dropped my ruined shoes and pants by the door, grabbed a blanket and slept in the bath. It made showering faster tonight._

_I dressed, shoved the soiled items into a pink trash bag and left it outside my door. The palace ran a simple system. White bags for laundry, pink for the incinerator._

_The lone Were outside my quarters looked exhausted. Full moon was tomorrow night._

_He yawned and told me Jephson had set up a headquarters in the main conference room. I headed there via the lobby, checking security. Double guards, double patrols at the perimeter. Good. The vampires would be on shift soon to relieve the exhausted Weres. The lobby was quiet; most staff were using the less exposed back corridors to get between the wings._

_A harried looking Jephson was dressing down an unfortunate Were when I got to the conference room. “And next time I don’t want to hear excuses! Now get to it.”_

“ _Yes, sir,” he answered sullenly._

“ _And less of that attitude,” he growled after his retreating back. “Eric, want the bad news or the really shit news?”_

_I grimaced. “All of it. And be quick.”_

“ _We lost nine vamps, three Weres, two human guards hired for the party who hung around after. That needs covering up – car crash, maybe. Their boss knows the score, won’t be trouble._

“ _Three of my Weres are injured; they’ll be out for a month or so. I have replacements lined up, and for those killed. Two of the kitchen staff have gunshot wounds, stable but serious. They’ll accept blood to heal if anyone’s willing._

“ _We have three human captives from their main force. The rest of the humans – about twenty all told – are dead. No wallets, no_ _IDs_ _, but a few tattoos indicated some were ex-cons or bikers so perhaps they won’t be missed. Captives ain’t given us shit yet._

“ _All forty-three Weres are dead. The dozen Salvatore dealt with in the ballroom had fae blood too,” he pulled a face, “so not much to identify. The Weres also had no ID, no pack markings on their clothing.”_

“ _So no leads on who they were, or who sent them.”_

“ _No. Not yet.”_

“ _Fuck. Freyda is going to be pissed.”_

_He muttered, “What’s new?”_

_I repressed a smile. “So, how did our system perform? Anything we could improve? Holes that need filling?”_

“ _Some of the perimeter patrols didn’t get off a warning. We lost four vampires under a century and two Weres there. Jean-Luc’s going to be pissed. He had older vamps down to patrol all night, but they switched for the party. Younger vamps have to be paired with more experienced ones maybe?”_

_I nodded, and he carried on. “On the plus side, even when we lost communication because Salvatore and Jean-Luc got batshit high, everybody knew what to do. Without the drills, the training you’ve done, it would have been much worse. We could station some dedicated_ _comms_ _personnel – Were or human?”_

_I shook my head. “No, either would have been drained dry in the lobby last night.”_

“ _The receptionist–”_

“ _Was very lucky. Had she screamed, tried to run …”_

_He looked at me. “Like junkies on angel dust, huh?”_

“ _Something like that.” I thought for a minute. “We could have used the cameras. If someone was watching, they could co-ordinate.”_

“ _The only place with all the camera feeds is Freyda’s office.” We looked at each other._

“ _Freyda was supposed to co-ordinate last night.” I frowned. I didn’t remember her giving orders over the radio._

“ _Yeah. She went to her safe room – no camera feed. To keep it from being found in a siege.”_

_I huffed. He knew more about the safe room than I did. Freyda hadn’t even trusted me with its location._

“ _Anyway Jean-Luc and Salvatore were beyond listening to–” He broke off as Freyda stormed into the room, Jean-Luc behind her._

“ _Report to me now, Consort!” she demanded in an icy voice. “Exactly how did a bunch of stinking, disorganised animals and human detritus managed to breach your precious security system, while I was forced to hide like a scared rabbit in my own home.”_

…

_Freyda yelled. At me, at Jean-Luc, at everyone._

_And again when she finally let Jephson report on his meagre findings._

_I let it wash over me. She was rattled; she’d calm down when we had a handle on things._

_Freyda locked down the palace for the night while the grounds were searched for evidence, and she instituted a communication black out with other kingdoms. No need to advertise an attack. Spies would spread the news soon, but we had a slim chance to identify the culprit before word got out._

_Jean-Luc and I questioned the captives. Under glamour they gave up their names, their occupations (two thugs and a mercenary), that they'd received cash up front, and their contact's name. He was one of the dead weres._

_Jephson’s men had found their vehicles and brought them into the compound during the day. They were hired locally, so they were returned and information gathered from the hire companies, by glamour where necessary. Discrete enquiries were made at the airports, bus and train stations._

_A picture emerged by the end of the night. The humans had hired the vehicles with false IDs, naturally. They had a range of American accents. The Weres hadn’t travelled together. Some arrived by bus, some by train, over several days and from various locations._

_Our Weres would use the day to check local motels and watering holes. By tomorrow night we would know where they’d stayed and met up._

_Whoever was behind this had money and a long reach. Hiring forty Weres and twenty humans for this kind of work was expensive. Setting up fake IDs, travel arrangements, car hire and weapons took time and money._

_What alarmed me was the fae blood. They’d ‘sweetened’ a lot of Weres. It was clearly meant to cause chaos, a massacre. If it had happened during the party, while local human dignitaries were here – that would have been disastrous. Much harder to cover up. Impossible in fact as Freyda had allowed a local TV crew to film guests arriving from outside the gates. The attack came well after the cameras and guests had left, so at least we weren’t dealing with a madman or an attempt to discredit vampires._

_Where had they got fae blood though? The portals were shut; not from the fae realm itself. From fae left behind then. And that much … four fae? Or one kept a long time, harvested? Someone would regret that if Niall ever found out. Keeping a fae prisoner for blood directly contravened the last treaty. Was it possible that a fairy left behind had been desperate enough to trade blood willingly?_

…

_Four nights later I was standing in front of Jean-Luc’s decorative wallpaper. He’d covered one wall of the conference room with notes and photos._

_There was a large scale map of the city with the hire car companies, four motels and three bars they’d used all marked._

_A map of the country was dotted with thumb tacks; two colours to mark the attacker’s_ _hometowns_ _, red for Weres, black for humans. There was a red and black cluster in California (biker gangs, human and Were) and another in New York (street gang members). The rest were scattered randomly._

_Two prisons marked with blue pins (in California and South Carolina) were linked to a handful of tacks by blue thread. The names of two military units were scrawled next to the map in Jephson’s handwriting, a spider web of green thread linking to another half dozen markers._

_There was no obvious pattern or large cluster, just a loose network of violent acquaintances._

_We were working on leads in New York and the_ _Californias_ _, but it was slow because Freyda didn’t want to alert those kingdoms officially. She had spies in more local kingdoms – Texas, Colorado, and New Mexico – but they hadn’t found anything yet._

_I stood examining a macabre_ _photo-montage_ _showing tattoos on a selection of bloody body parts from the fight. The body art had helped trace the hired muscle to military units, prisons, and gangs. Jephson had taken the photos. He had a good eye for framing._

_A guard’s radio crackled to life behind me. I was being summoned to an audience in the second hall. Did Freyda need me to dispatch someone?_

…

_As I walked in, a deep silence fell, the kind a vampire only hears amongst other vampire._

_It's never good to hear that when you walk into a room. I took in the scene as I stepped further onto the checkerboard tiles, not breaking stride or giving any sign of concern._

_Freyda and Jean-Luc stood by the dais with Salvatore and a couple of guards. I had interrupted a disagreement from the look of it, but their eyes were all locked unwaveringly on me._

_In front of them, back to me, was a tall figure, long black hair tied neatly back. Boscombe. His second was beside him and he had a vampire at his feet, trussed in silver and gagged – a present for Freyda no doubt, like a half-dead frog left lovingly by an affectionate cat on its owner’s pillow._

_I altered my course to stop alongside the Tulsa sheriff. I looked down at the prisoner, rolling him over with my foot. I recognised the bound vampire from Tulsa. He worked as a bartender and a bouncer in Boscombe’s club. “What do we have here Boscombe?” I asked, with an expression of mild enquiry._

“ _Ian Wallace. A spy for Texas. I caught him leaving my area very suddenly last night. Suspicious timing, don't you think?” Wallace protested weakly from behind his gag._

_I shrugged, staying relaxed while my mind raced._

_The attack came right after I sent word to Pam. Isabel, Stan: both had passed me messages from her. They were in contact. With preparation Texas was strong enough to take Oklahoma, but this attack was weak. Had my warning forced Texas to show his hand too early?_

_I asked, “How long have you known he was spying for Texas?”_

“ _Oh, a while. He had these hidden in his dwelling.” His second held up a clear plastic bag with a motley collection of wallets. I had a strong intuition they would smell of wolf, infused with fae._

“ _You've questioned him?”_

“ _Yes. He denied it, of course. But the wallets... seem to belong to some Weres we're all very interested in.” He paused, watching me. He liked to see people squirm, but I gave nothing away._

“ _You think Texas was behind this? It doesn't seem like his style.” I could feel the others watching me as well. What was going on? I supressed a sudden urge to find an exit and use it._

“ _No, but his agents may have been fomenting trouble here, trouble from another quarter, to weaken us. I believe the aggressors had local help. From this worm here,” he kicked Wallace hard in the kidneys, “and from a traitor in the palace.”_

_I held his gaze. “And who is that?”_

“ _Well, I'm not sure.” He tapped his chin in mock thought. “We're looking for someone who made regular visits to Tulsa to make contact with Wallace here...” He trailed off, still looking at me._

_I growled. I straightened, looking right into Freyda's angry eyes. “Majesty, I had nothing to do with this attack.” I said firmly._

_I was already calculating. Jean-Luc and Boscombe together would be tricky, and Salvatore looked like he wanted to rip me apart for his brother’s death. Not good odds, but a slim chance of escape…_

_Freyda growled back. “Is it coincidence that I have been attacked four times since I raised you up to consort?”_

“ _I had nothing to do with any of those attacks. If I wanted you dead I had many easier opportunities.” I delayed, shifting my weight slowly, ready to jump into the air as soon as they moved._

_Footsteps sounded behind me, and a voice rang out._

“ _Freyda, darling, I came as soon as I could.” I turned, taking a step back from the group, to see Nadia striding confidently into the room with her six personal guards. Fuck. Odds down to_ _minuscule._

_She took in the tableau in front of her. “It looks like I arrived fortuitously. Is there something rotten in the heart of Oklahoma, my dear? I couldn’t help but overhear.”_

_Her entrance was no fucking co-incidence, but that was all I had time to think. I tensed as Salvatore snarled, and then it began._

_Freyda and Nadia stood back to watch, and a loose circle formed around me, two of Nadia’s vampires stepping into the middle eagerly with the enraged Sicilian. Might as well give the audience the show it wants, I thought as I dodged Salvatore’s first attack._

_They overwhelmed me eventually._

_Nadia’s two vampires were worse for wear. I made sure Boscombe took an elbow in the face when I had chance. After it hit home with a satisfying crunch, he backed away to reset his broken nose. Jean-Luc hung back for a while waiting for an opening. It was his elegant kick to the back of my knees that finally brought me down. Bodies piled on quickly, pinning me to the floor. My arms were pulled behind me and silver cuffs snapped onto my wrists. A thick silver chain was wrapped around my legs._

_The crushing press of bodies lifted. Salvatore used the cuffs to yank me up onto my knees._

_I spat blood. Then I pulled myself up to my feet, despite Salvatore’s weight hanging on the cuffs behind me._

_I stood tall and looked Freyda in the eye. “Don’t tell me. The divorce papers are in the mail.”_

_She punched me. Boscombe’s nose must have hurt because he took a gut shot too._

_Then I was dragged away._

…

I came out of downtime briefly at dawn. My injuries ached, and I moaned softly as Pam curled around me. Her presence comforted me, but I slipped away before I could thank her.


	11. Fighting Like Cats and Dogs

“ _He smells of another woman_.”

My breath hitched as Thalia's words echoed inside my head. I stared out at the dark treeline as I felt emotions tumbling from Sam behind me: anger, indignation, a hot stab of hate and underneath it all a swamp of guilt and regret.

I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my fists, containing my own anger as best I could. Then, I turned slowly, raising my eyes to his. He looked desperate.

“Well, Sam. What did she mean by that?” My voice sounded cold, flat.

He flushed. “It must be Sister, Sister Mendoza. I left Mom's in a rush, worried about you. Sister hugged me right before I left.” He was hiding something.

“Sister, she's real close to you, isn't she?” I was calm. Numb.

He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Yeah. She's a good friend.”

He reached out and gently uncurled my hand, keeping tight hold of it knowing I would get a clear read. He searched my face. “Sookie, I've been a mess this week. I... I guess I needed to talk to a friend, and she's a good listener. Nothing happened between us. I swear.”

His thoughts matched his words. She was just a friend. Nothing happened. I began to relax. My eyes filled and I smiled weakly. He stepped closer, wrapped me gently in his warm arms and hugged me.

“I was so worried, Sook. I drove straight home. I'm so sorry I wasn't here when you needed me.”

“S’okay,” I mumbled against his shirt, tears starting. “I shouldn’t have believed her. She was pissed.” And I knew how manipulative vampires could be. Thalia hadn’t exactly lied, he probably did smell of Sister to her, but she’d sure been spiteful.

I sniffed, and wiped my face against him, holding tight to his familiar warmth, glad to have him and his strength back. I inhaled again, needing the comfort of his smell.

His shirt smelt different, laced with perfume, Sister’s I guessed, cigarette smoke and alcohol. There was something else… I sniffed again: a faint wild musky scent ran underneath the others. It wasn’t Sam's own familiar woodsy smell.

He felt me tense, and pulled back to look at my face.

“You smell... wrong,” I said slowly. “Like something wild.” I realised suddenly that I could see his face clearly but the porch was dark. Eric's blood. Heighten senses.

Sam's eyes widened. I felt his flash of remorse and heard a snatch of his thoughts before he pulled away, slamming his mind shut. _So drunk... just a kiss..._

I froze, a cold icy dread flooding my stomach.

He pulled his hands through his hair, grumbling under his breath, “Fucking vampires. How much blood did he give you? That was yesterday. You shouldn't be able to smell–” He stopped abruptly.

At that I snapped back to life. “Smell what? Her? That was what you were going to say, right? Her. Whose smell is it all over the shirt _your wife_ gave you for Christmas, Sam?”

He looked ashamed. “Nobody, Sook, nobody. Just some shifter in a bar. I swear. I was drunk out of my mind last night. We were just dancing and she kissed me. It was just a kiss, that's all. I love you. I would never do that to you. I dragged myself straight home to Mom’s.”

I glared at him. It was every clichéd excuse Arlene’s deadbeat boyfriends had used: _I was drunk. She meant nothing. We just fooled around. But I love you, baby._

And hearing Sam call Bernie’s house home added insult to injury. My hackles rose.

“ _This_ is home, Sam. Not your damn mother's house,” I snapped.

He flinched.

“So, let me get this straight.” I said in an arctic tone – it had been a rough night and I’d hit my limit. “We had a fight. You took off to _your mom’s_ , leaving me _home_ alone over Thanksgiving. Last night, while I was dragged to Texas by a lunatic and got caught up in a crazy fight, you went to a bar, got drunk and danced with some whore who shoved her skanky tongue down your throat. And I’m supposed to be grateful that’s all you let happen?”

He coloured. “It wasn’t like that, Sook.” He reached for my hand and I pulled away. He reached out again, but stopped himself and spoke softly. “Don’t be like that, Cher. I’m grieving too. It’s been hell these last few weeks. I missed you.”

I was too angry, too hurt, to be understanding, especially after he'd been too gutless to own up, spinning me that line about Sister to mislead me. “Really? You missed me so much you didn’t even call once Sam!”

He lost his temper then. “Neither did you! And who the fuck do I find when I get back, sitting on our couch like he owns the damn place! And he’s got his blood into you again. That’s no fucking accident.”

“Sam! I was damn near dying. I was lucky he came along.”

“Yeah. Real convenient. Why didn’t you call an ambulance? Or Tara? Jason?”

“It’s real hard to use the phone when you’re unconscious Sam!”

“You were unconscious?” He looked upset, then angry. He took a step back, and bristled. “How many times has he been here while I’ve been gone?”

“What? What are you talking about? Tonight was the first time.”

He growled out, “That’s a lie! When, Sookie? When did you invite him in? The day I left? The next?”

I bristled right back. “Don’t be ridiculous Sam. I don’t invite stray men over the second you leave.”

He snorted. I heard loud and clear: _Not strays, just your exes._

My face flushed with anger. I snapped, “Don’t you dare start up about Quinn again, you know damn well that was totally innocent.”

“Not on his part it wasn’t. I don’t know whether you’re too nice to believe it, or just wilfully blind to what a huge insult that was in my world.” I would be a whole lot less blind if he flippin’ shared his weird territorial shifter stuff with me. I glared at him as he carried on. “Eric is twice as devious as Quinn. When did you invite that damn vampire into our home Sookie?”

I said hotly, “I did _not_ invite–” I choked to a halt.

Oh hell. That was what had been niggling at me when Thalia was on the porch steps. Eric was in the house. Inside both wards. With no invite.

Sam was staring at me in disbelief, mouth tight with fury.

I said slowly, “I woke up healed. He was already in the house. I didn’t invite him in, Sam. I swear.”

“Then how did he get in?” he yelled.

“I… I don’t know. Are the wards still–,” I broke off again as my cell rang. Jason’s ring tone. I answered on autopilot, still worrying whether the wards were okay.

Sam muttered, and stomped passed me. I watched him grab his bag from the truck as I greeted Jason.

“Hey, big brother. How are you? Have a good Thanksgiving with Michele’s folks?” My voice was too perky, but bless him, Jason didn’t notice.

“Hey, sis. Yeah, yeah. They’re babysitting Junior. We just got back from dinner. Look, I turned my cell back on and I got a weird message from one of the Hotshot guys. Something ‘bout you needing some help at the house, but it’s kinda date night … Want me to stop by?”

“Oh. Right.” I frowned. “What time was that?” Sam pushed passed me into the house, shooting me a get-off-the-phone glare.

“Oh, real early, ‘bout five thirty.”

“Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it.” I scrambled for a reasonable explanation. “I wanted a hand moving something, but Sam just got home so it’s fine.”

“Oh, you guys came back today then? Kennedy said tomorrow when Michele spoke to her.”

I winced; I’d forgotten I wasn’t supposed to be home.

Jason didn’t notice my slip. He rambled on about leaving his cell off for a quiet meal, how great the seafood tasted, yada, yada. I made appropriate noises while I wondered who the heck had called him while I was knocked out. Someone knew. Someone from Hotshot had called Jason … maybe Eric too?

Sam said Calvin had called him this afternoon … suddenly, red flags were flapping madly.

Eventually, I interrupted Jason. “Um, I gotta go Jase, something on the stove. I’ll speak to you later.”

“Okay sis, see ya soon.”

I closed my phone and squinted at the woods. Niall said guards. I’d lay odds they were feline in nature. Were they out there now?

I stretched out my special sense to its limits.

Nothing. Not a snarly panther brain out there.

…

I could hear Sam slamming drawers in the bedroom. He was frustrated with me for taking Jason’s call.

I snorted and grabbed the bucket I’d abandoned in the hall, heading to the back porch. I threw the ruined silk scarf in the trash and put the dirty laundry on to wash.

I heard our shower start as I came back into the kitchen. I slammed some cupboards myself. Excuse me for giving my family some time, I thought snippily. How dare I spend fifteen minutes chatting with my brother when Sam had just spent the whole week with his family.

No way was I cooking for him; I bet Bernie served more than canned soup for Thanksgiving dinner. The image of her table groaning with food had my stomach growling. I made an unappetising sandwich that I hardly tasted as I wolfed it down.

I was putting away the last dish when Sam came in. He braced himself on the back of a chair, waiting for me.

“Cher, we need to talk.”

“Yep. We do. How did Calvin Norris know I was hurt this afternoon Sam?”

That stopped him in his tracks. He ran his hand through his hair, and suddenly there was a real interesting spot on the kitchen table. His mind was closed tighter than a drum.

I carried on. “See, I can’t work it out, Sam. Pam dropped me home in the middle of the night. I slept all day, didn’t see a soul. So how did he know? ” I paused. He shifted his weight uneasily. “And then tonight Niall mentioned guards. Eric, Pam and, heck, even Thalia weren’t surprised. Neither was my ever-lovin’ husband. Y’all knew exactly what Niall meant.”

His shoulders slumped, and he cleared his throat. “Yeah. I knew.”

“What y’all do Sam? Have a meeting? Organise my damn life without me?” Every question I spat out, I felt his pulse of… defiance. “You didn’t think I should know.”

“No, I didn’t. You’re better off out of all that, not knowing, Cher. Like things used to be, before Bill. When things were simple, and you were happy. I wanted to give you that back.”

I stared at him in disbelief. How on God’s green earth did he think I’d be okay with being treated like… like… like a child! “Sam Merlotte I am so angry with you right now, I don’t even want to look at you.”

“Cher, it was for the best. You didn’t need the worry. You’d been through enough.”

“Yes, I’d had enough violence and craziness. But that doesn’t give you the right to lie to me Sam. I’m so sick of you hiding things–”

The counter phone rang out suddenly, stopping us both.

I was closest. “Yes? Merlotte household.”

“I have a message from the sheriff.” said a sullen female voice. I had a brief jolt of panic as I flashed on the crumpled car I’d seen in Lattesta’s head. Late night calls from the sheriff were never good news. Then I placed the accent.

“Thalia? Is that you?” I didn’t imagine she called many people socially… or ever. Perhaps she didn’t understand normal phone etiquette called for a hello and an introduction.

“Yes,” she snapped. Nope, she was just plain rude. “Listen well, woman. The sheriff bids me tell you the blood connection is gone. The Norseman is free of you as was his wish.”

The way she put that rubbed me the wrong way. I snapped back, “That’s just dandy for me too.”

“From me: tell the dog to take care where he hunts.” She hung up. Damn vampires. I hadn’t missed their lack of phone manners.

“Cher, this is exactly why I want you out of their world. It’s too dangerous. You’re out of your depth.”

I gave him a piercing stare. “It wasn’t me who offended Thalia. Now, it’s late, and I’ve had one hell of a night. I nearly died; vampires and fairies turned up _uninvited_ ; and my husband came home smelling of another woman. I’m going to bed. Alone. You can sleep in the spare room.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but I scowled at him, and he closed it again in defeat.

…

I didn’t sleep well.

I half-expected nightmares starring Neave and Lochlan. I still had them occasionally, before the full moon. I’d finally worked out after a year of living with him that Sam’s dreams triggered mine. If he dreamt of hunting, I guessed – the biting.

I tossed and turned for half the night, scenes from the last two days bouncing round my head. Things that didn’t add up.

When I wasn’t awake, the nightmares that robbed me of sleep centred on Eric.

Scrubbing my nightgown frantically, over and over, the blood reappearing every time I got it clean, Eric dying before I reached him. Switching the hall light on and watching helplessly as he exploded into ash. Blood pouring out of him, desperately trying to stem the tide with towels that kept disappearing. Watching him quietly flaking away, frozen to the spot. Or the worst one: a pack of animals tearing him apart while the evil fairies held me down.

I woke up very early Sunday morning. I lay there, wide awake in the gloom, unwilling to close my eyes again. Eventually the room lightened and I got up.

I stood in the doorway to the spare room watching Sam sleep for a while. His hair was rumpled, and he twitched now and then, but didn’t stir; the long drive from Wright always tired him out.

I wrote a grocery list while I ate a paltry breakfast. Then I dressed in a pretty pink suit, satisfied to see a bit of colour in my cheeks despite my disturbed night, and headed for church alone.

I sat at the back, enjoying the sense of peace. It was busy being right after Thanksgiving, and I was pleasantly surprised that blocking the congregation didn’t cause a headache, until I realised why. I shifted self-consciously, hoping it wasn’t obvious I’d had vampire blood. The Reverend regularly preached against the evils of addictive drugs, singling V out as the newest danger to his flock, and I felt guilty for enjoying looking good in the mirror earlier.

I listened to the service, all about giving thanks, and ‘awed’ at the Sunday school children’s little performance. When we prayed, I prayed for guidance in my marriage. I almost asked for the grace to forgive Sam his indiscretion, but that made me think some very ungodly things.

After service, I ran the gauntlet of the crowd socialising outside. Several people greeted me kindly. The Reverend shook my hand, saying warmly how glad he was to see me looking well, while he wondered if he should offer me counselling for my loss. My crazy smile stretched my cheeks and I pulled away, flustered.

I walked straight into Maxine Fortenberry and one of her friends, with my shields down. Her friend wished Sam was here; he looked good in a suit. Maxine thought the usual.

While her red lip-sticked mouth announced the Lord would find a way around my ‘little problem’ – didn’t anybody in the town think my privacy was worth a damn? – her mind said sleeping with the boss and then marrying him worked out real well for me financially. It was such a shame for Sam that a gold-digger like me wasn’t going to be blessed with children by the good Lord. For the thousandth time, I wanted to scream that I’d bought my share in the bar fair and square, but I could hardly tell her the money came from my fairy kin. She’d assume the worst about how ‘a girl like me’ had come into that amount.

I slammed my mind shut as Holly and Hoyt came over, barely managing to stay polite as I extricated myself. Holly and I shared sympathetic looks as she braced herself to deal with her mother-in-law.

Halleigh’s two children ran up to me, eager to show me their Sunday school artwork. Halleigh followed them cringing and mouthing an apology. At least she realised I wanted to be left alone today. I feigned interest in their drawings, trying not to think I might never look at ones by my own children. I stayed out of Halleigh’s head; her thoughts would be gentle and sympathetic, but they would make me tear up.

Andy came up behind her, and I groaned internally when I realised Portia and her husband Glen were with him, no doubt visiting for the holidays. Halleigh’s kids disappeared to play with their cousins.

I didn’t need to be telepathic. Portia’s expression as she looked me up and down told me my clothes, my shoes and my hair all left something to be desired. But she smiled hello, and I made polite small talk for a few minutes. She made certain to mention their new car, how well her kids were doing in school, the new pool they had put in this summer, how difficult it was balancing her successful legal career with motherhood. Owning a bar wasn’t a career in her eyes. She asked how I coped with waitressing at ‘my age’ and I tried not to snap. Glen chatted to Andy about football, throwing me sidelong glances.

Maybe I was still jumpy from the last two days, but Glen had vampire clients and so I listened in a little.

I was surprised to find he was wondering why I was still in this podunk town. He was glad he’d gotten Portia to move. I stiffened at the insult to my hometown, plastering on my crazy smile. He dealt with shapeshifters too now, and he wished moving had made Portia more broad-minded and less ashamed of his supernatural clientèle. She wasn’t as perfect as she seemed; my smile turned a little smug.

He started to think about Bill and how much money he was raking in, how pleased Bill had been when he’d gotten him tax breaks for his travel expenses and improvements to his phone line and house. He wondered why a man of the world like Bill chose to live in a little redneck town where he wasn’t ever going to be accepted like vampires were in the big cities. Just as I was about stop, guilty for eavesdropping, Glen caught my eye. He was glad Portia wasn’t as liberal as me; he’d never marry someone who’d slept with vampires. I slammed my shields up as he began to imagine exactly what I’d done in bed to keep Bill’s attention.

Ew. That was his great-grandfather. By marriage, but still ew.

I felt my face redden, stammered an excuse about getting to the store and walked hastily away.

…

I unpacked the groceries in an empty house. No Sam, no note on the fridge. I ate the ready-made sandwich I’d bought, leaving Sam’s in the fridge.

After lunch, I checked for messages and placed an important phone call forgotten in all the drama yesterday.

Remy answered, and I spent about ten minutes chatting to Hunter, reassuring myself my little cousin was okay. I asked carefully if he’d heard any bad thoughts from grownups, like that bad man at my house. He thought for a moment and said no, but I wasn’t sure he remembered Lattesta. I’d have to wait until I saw him to check his memories.

Remy and I chatted a little. He was grateful that I saw Hunter a couple of times a year to help him with his quirk, but he really wasn’t all that comfortable with me. Once I got married, he felt Sam would resent it if Hunter took up too much of my time. True, Sam had been wary of Hunter at first. Hunter had blurted out his mind was weird the first time they met, and complained when Sam blocked him. But they’d slowly gotten used to each other. Mostly Hunter just made Sam wistful for a son of his own these days.

I sighed. Sam really wasn’t comfortable with our ability when it was used on him. Or when Hunter and I talked in our special way and excluded him.

We’d never talked about how he’d deal with it if I passed my quirk on to our children.

If we ever had any.

…

I was sorting laundry half an hour later when a car pulled up and I heard kids yelling. Tara.

I stuck my head out the door and waved. The twins were yelling, “Cake! Cake, Auntie Sook!” and Tara lifted up the box from the new bakery in town with an apologetic shrug. I held in a sigh, smiling brightly as I called out, “I'll put some coffee on,” and ducked back into the kitchen.

Tara only brought cakes if she was upset with JB or if she needed a favour. Usually that meant babysitting, and she brought the kids to make it harder to say no. I looked out of the window as I filled the coffee jug and watched them run around the back yard yelling. I winced. They were always so loud, and they never seemed to run out of energy. No wonder Tara had persuaded JB to have the op last year. Twins were an awful lot of work. She joked that she was still waiting for it to get easier as they got older, but I knew there was real frustration behind her words.

One advantage to being 'Auntie' to lots of kids was that I had no illusions about motherhood left. I sighed. I had discovered some kids were not so likeable. Mason, Sam's nephew could be real mean to his sister if no-one was around. But that was normal, right? You always loved your own fiercely; lots of folks didn’t like other people's kids. I heard plenty of thoughts about this child or that child being a handful, a tearaway, an obnoxious so-and-so.

I worried how I'd handle thoughts like that about my own child – or worse, handle my child hearing them. Worries I hadn’t shared with Sam.

I wondered for the umpteenth time how Gran had coped with me. I'd finally stopped wondering why she'd never told me about Fintan, or Mr C's little gift. I reckoned she saw how much pain my quirk brought me and felt too damn guilty to tell me. She probably didn't know how to contact them for help, either. At least that was what I'd convinced myself.

I opened the window when the coffee was ready. “Tara you wanna have this outside?” I was hoping she'd say yes, thinking of my freshly cleaned living room smeared with frosting.

“Yeah, sure Sook.” She looked a little pensive. Maybe JB was in the doghouse and I was off the hook for babysitting. Perhaps she found out he was moonlighting at Hooligan's? She'd been relieved when he got work as a personal trainer, but he stripped in the run up to the holidays now and again for extra cash. He just told her he was working late.

With that in mind, I snagged a jacket and took a tray with some plates, the coffees and some juice for the kids out to the picnic table, where she'd set the cake box. “JB at Merlotte's?”

“Yeah, with Jason and Hoyt.” She rolled her eyes – it was their winter Sunday ritual.

The kids came over clamouring for cake, so adult conversation was put on hold. The cakes were delicious: brownies for the twins and a slab of my favourite mocha cake for us, a sinful blend of cocoa and caffeine. I imagined Bernie pursing her lips at me for all those calories and I blew a mental raspberry. Then I subtly checked out which jeans Tara could get in today. Yeah, the ‘skinny’ ones, we were good. She wouldn’t have guilty thoughts about the gym.

I had company over regularly these days. It was Sam’s home too; it wasn’t fair to ask him to curtail his social life because of my quirk. When it was just ‘us’ – our close circle – I’d got into the habit of relaxing. It was my home, and it was too draining to keep shielded all the time they were around. But it meant I knew more than was comfortable about my friends.

Tara wiped the kids down when they'd finished and they tore off to chase leaves around the yard. She watched them for a minute, while she chewed over how to start a conversation.

I was a little curious and I dipped in deliberately, hoping to find out what JB had done so I could school my reaction appropriately.

Oh. She was here to find out _what was up with me._

Sunday after church was Tara's 'me time' – JB took the twins to his folks for an hour or two and she had some respite. This morning Sam had shown up acting crazier than a sprayed roach, asking questions that didn’t make a lick of sense, and then leaving abruptly. Tara had been eaten up with worry and a plum big dose of curiosity ever since. So when the kids got back and JB took off for his guy time, she'd come right over.

I didn’t like where this was heading, and I stopped digging.

“So, how was Texas? Bernie put on a big spread?” Uh-huh. She was fishing.

I took a sip of my drink, watching the kids. Quietly I said, “We had one hell of a fight last Sunday and he went on his own.”

“What? He went without you? After you just lost his baby, what...” She caught my pained expression and trailed off. She’d got caught up in her indignation, forgot to mind her tongue.

“Yeah.” I shrugged and pulled a face. “He _had_ to. Bernie was expecting him.”

“Oh. Well. Is it a... special holiday for them?” By 'them' she meant shifters. She wasn't real comfortable with Bernie. She was having some bizarre ideas about dogs and turkey hunting right now.

“No more than any mother-in-law, Tara.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. At least our crosses ain't as big as Holly's, poor girl.” Slowly she added, “It must have been mighty embarrassing for Sam, turning up without you. He was real upset this morning.”

Whenever I complained about Sam this was Tara's m.o. First she was the sympathetic girlfriend outraged on my behalf, and then she started pleading Sam’s case for him. I sighed. “I just wasn't up to dealing with his family, Tara.”

“Oh, honey.” She gave me a weak smile and patted my arm, not really sure what to say. “Well, at least he's home now.” She paused a minute, thinking grief did strange things. Tentatively she asked, “So, I guess that's why you didn't call me. You spent the whole week home alone, huh?”

A flash of Sam, agitated, asking if she'd seen me this week, if I’d had any visitors, if she’d heard of any new guys in town.

Shit. Way to make me sound like a cheater, Sam.

Worse, Tara had jumped to obvious conclusions, and judged me six ways to Sunday. I had a burst of anger at her, but I kept my face and voice neutral. “Pretty much. Went to Shreveport a couple times. ” There, I hadn't lied. Not directly.

She thought something didn’t add up; poor Sam had been _so_ upset. Poor Sam, my ass. He wasn't endearing himself to me with this bullshit.

She looked over at the twins and casually asked, “No visitors? What did y'all do for Thanksgiving?”

“Soup. But the house is clean as a new pin.”

She frowned, biting her lip and then came right out with it. “Honey, Sam seems to think you had someone over.”

“Sam needs to keep his big mouth shut.”

Her eyes widened. “Sook, tell me you haven't done something stupid.”

I glared at her. How dare she! I spat, “Sam should put his own house in order before he casts any stones.”

As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t. Now I’d have to tell her. Damn, damn, damn. I resigned myself to enduring her pity, thinking better that than explaining FBI kidnappings, fairy kin, and visiting vampires. That was a whole other world neither of us was comfortable acknowledging let alone being part of anymore.

Her eyes were like saucers. “Oh. My. God. What did he do?”

I let out a long sigh. “He got drunk, went dancing, and kissed some skank in a bar.”

“He didn’t! That stupid sumbitch. I can’t believe he’d do that to you, risk everything you’ve got. ” She shook her head, and then there was a thud followed by a yell as Robbie fell over.

…

By the time Robbie had been nursed back to a smile with a piece of brownie, and Sarah had demanded one in sympathy, Tara had gone past outrage again and landed at concern tinged with smugness. Concern because Sam was too straight shooting to do something like that, no wonder he was in such a state. And smug that JB wouldn’t stray now he’d stopped stripping.

I didn’t want to open that can of worms, so I left her to her thoughts, taking the tray back inside. When I came back with fresh coffees, Tara had something to say.

She took a few sips first, easing in to it. “You know guys do stupid things when they’re drunk. You know what it’s like; you’ve seen them in the bar. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“He’s married Tara. And he’s not some teenage kid.”

“Yeah… I know. But you guys are having a hard time right now. Maybe… maybe the physical side of things is suffering?” She saw my face and hurried on. “I know, I know, it doesn’t excuse what he did. But right after the twins I was so tired, and what with giving birth and all… You have to try, keep things going.”

She was thinking that was one good thing about getting involved with Franklin Mott: she knew how to please a man. And I must have learnt something dating vamps too.

“You have make the effort, Sook. Keep Sam interested.”

I flushed, but bit back a retort. She meant to help, even it seemed like she was blaming me and excusing Sam.

She didn't need telepathy to read my reaction. She held her hands up in surrender. “It’s just a thought, Sook. Don't take it the wrong way.”

“I know you didn't mean it how it sounded.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes, while she wondered idly if shifters were any different in their tastes to ordinary men, if maybe I couldn’t keep up with Sam. That smarted. Yeah, her thoughts… didn’t help.

Then she began to worry about finding one of JB’s shirts smelling of beer and perfume last week.

That was the thing that confused me most with Tara. That shirt didn’t exist in her mind ten minutes ago when she was all smug about JB not straying. Just like she blanked out what happened in Jackson, or with the maenad, whenever she wanted. I wished I could blank out my most unpleasant memories on a whim.

But the things Tara supressed had a habit of bubbling to the surface again. Like that shirt.

I knew JB got a thrill out of stripping, along with his tips. But he turned down offers all the time, and he was totally loyal to her. Trouble was I couldn’t tell Tara that because she wasn’t telling me about the shirt. Anyway if I told her she might ask me to read his thoughts every time she doubted him. That would not go well.

Previous attempts to smooth my friends’ marriages with things I'd discovered with my quirk had backfired, so I tried to stay out of things. It was hard to do when I heard both sides, but it was healthier for my friendships that way.

Eventually the twins got fractious and Tara headed off, giving me a hug. “Hang in there kid, things will look up soon.”

I gave her a weak grin. I appreciated that thought, even if she didn’t know the half of it between Sam and me.

…

After they’d gone, I washed the dishes and took a book to the living room to read. I kept losing my place; I was listening out for Sam’s truck.

I sighed, looking round the room. It would be time for the Christmas decorations soon. I idly mulled over where to place them twisting my rings on my finger, a habit when I was chewing things over.

I looked down at my engagement ring, remembering a tree with lights, Sam looking up at me from one knee, and everybody’s happy faces. I was sitting in the same chair, I realised.

There was still something about that memory tugging at me … Tara, something about Tara… I could smell her perfume on my sweater from our hug. I closed my eyes letting the scent mingle with the memory, going through the scene slowly.

… _I was shocked… then I felt a wave of anticipation, expectation … Tara squealed, I said yes … Sam put the ring on my finger… it was so noisy, all the voices and thoughts mixing…_

Holy Shit! I sat bolt upright. I could hear them!

I went over it again, my heart thudding. Yes, I was sure. That was why I had to get away to the kitchen: all their thoughts pressing in on me. With the shock of Sam proposing, my shields had crumbled leaving my mind wide open the whole flipping time.

A second revelation hit me like a freight train: the anticipation, the expectation _wasn’t mine._

Sweet baby Jesus, say it ain’t so.

I jumped up, wringing my hands and scanning the room frantically for something, anything that would contradict me, prove me wrong. The room lurched. Hyperventilating, I sat back down heavily, put my head on my knees and breathed slowly and deeply.

Okay. Get a grip, Stackhouse.

I sat up slowly.

It had all happened so quickly. I hadn’t noticed.

It had been years since I’d confused someone else’s thoughts with my own. Not since I was a child. Once I reached my teen years I worked hard to keep things straight until it became second nature. It made me feel out of control every time it happened, like I was trapped on a crazy roller-coaster, like I was losing myself, the part that was me, Sookie, disappearing underneath everyone else’s yammering.

But this hadn’t been foreign thoughts heard as my own. It was a feeling, a strong one to confuse me like that.

I groaned. I’d been swamped because they were all feeling the same: excited anticipation, expecting me to agree. Sam himself … Jason had known … and Tara. She was way too ready with wedding plans, now I thought about it. Even Michele probably guessed what was going down when Jason brought bubbly. And I’d kept out of their heads that day because it was Christmas. I was the only one surprised.

No wonder I’d felt shell-shocked later that night. I hadn’t accepted on my own terms.

Did it matter? Wouldn’t I have said yes anyway?

I thought about it. Maybe. Maybe, but I’d never know for sure. I wanted to slap myself.

If he’d asked me without an audience I would have asked if I could think it over, take some time. We’d only been together a few months…

I felt nauseous.

But we had been happy, I reminded myself, no denying it. I might have jumped at the offer. As Tara often teased me back then, my clock was ticking. Sam was a good prospect, stable, with a steady income. The men of Bon Temps were hardly beating down my door with proposals.

I told myself firmly it didn’t matter exactly why I’d said yes in that moment. I hadn’t backed out during our eight month engagement, hadn’t had doubts. I couldn’t recast everything with hindsight.

I was too eager to find a reason for our current problems. It would sit easier with my conscience to believe something had been wrong from the start, rather than I’d had it good and messed it up.

And it was no use crying about it anyway. It was done.

I looked at the darkening windows. Where the hell was Sam? This was ridiculous. I wasn’t sitting here waiting on him like a fool a moment longer.

…

Sam’s truck was behind Merlotte’s when I pulled up. I ran my hand over the hood as I passed it. Warm. I was heading towards the back door when Kennedy came out with a trash bag. She was immaculate as ever.

“Oh, hi Sookie. We weren’t expecting you back until tomorrow.”

“Hi Kennedy. I’m running errands today. I thought Sam would be home. Guess he couldn’t stay away. Has he been here long?”

“Nope, just got here about ten minutes ago.”

He’d shut himself in our office in a foul mood, and Kennedy was avoiding him. Great. Where had he been all day? I tensed ready to confront him.

Kennedy eyed me, and stepped closer. “Is everything alright between you and Sam?”

“What do you mean?” Panicked embarrassment churned the partly digested cake in my stomach. Was it that obvious our marriage was floundering? I felt like a scarlet D for divorce was branded on my forehead already. Then I got hold of myself: Kennedy saw us so often she couldn’t help notice the tension. She was anxious. I hoped she wasn’t concerned for her job.

She weighed her answer carefully. “You haven’t been yourself lately, sweetie. You’ve lost your sparkle. I know you’ve had a hard row to hoe with…” she gestured at my belly. “I don’t mean to intrude, but if you need a shoulder… I’m a good listener. And I don’t gossip. Heard enough talk about myself.”

I was touched by her genuine concern. Kennedy was level-headed enough to confide in, but she was an employee. “Thank you, Kennedy. That’s real kind, but we all work together. I don’t want to put you in the middle of this.”

She searched my face. “You’re gonna come out the other side of this stronger. You remember that. You’re a survivor, Sookie. Us survivors have to watch each other’s backs.” Then she stepped forward quickly and hugged me tightly for a second. “Don’t let a man chew you up, Sook.”

Then she was gone.

…

Once I’d calmed down, I went to the office. I didn’t knock.

Sam was sat at his desk, head in his hands. The ledger he wrote phone numbers in was out by the phone. I’d teased him about his ‘little black book” in the past. Now it didn’t seem remotely funny. Who he was planning on phoning?

“Sam. Where have you been all day? Are you planning to come home soon?”

“I’m busy Sook. I’ll be home in an hour.” He barely glanced my way. He looked awful. Grey, like someone in shock. His mind was blank, sluggish, before he remembered to shut me out. I smelt whisky, and the draw he kept a bottle in was open slightly. Lord, I hoped he hadn’t drunk that before he drove God knows where this afternoon.

“You need to come home. Now.”

“I need to finish up here.”

I looked over the desk pointedly. “There’s nothing needs doing that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

“I said I need to finish up.”

“Really? Is the damn bar more important than our marriage Sam?”

He snorted. “You resent me running my business now? Most women would be grateful for the money I bring in.”

“I didn’t marry you for your money.”

“Yeah, you’ve got your own. I get it, Sook.” He was bitter.

“Don’t start with that. This isn’t about money.”

“No. No, it’s about trust. And you don’t trust me with your money.” He leapt up, agitated. “You won’t put it into the bar, or the duplexes. You gotta keep your own little nest egg. Why Sook? What you need it for?”

“Whatever the hell I like! It’s my money. How many times do I have to say it? I need to be independent, Sam. I’m not some girl who’s gonna sit home, letting a man keep her in bonbons and lingerie.” He was pacing wildly and our voices were raised, but I stood my ground. My instincts said we needed to have this out now. Audience in the bar be damned.

“I’m your husband, Sook. Your husband! I’m supposed to provide for you. We’re supposed to share everything. But you’ve always kept something back haven’t you? That’s what all this talk of independence is covering!” His control was slipping and I was getting flashes of anger, jealousy and despair.

“What the hell Sam? Why is it so hard for you to understand?”

He laughed hollowly. “Because you won’t let me in, Sook. What do I have to do to get you to trust me? I can’t stand to see you so miserable, but you won’t talk to me. Let me help you, let me in.”

“Just because I don’t want to talk everything to death with you does not mean I don’t trust you! I just don’t work that way. I need to grieve alone, Sam. Why can’t you accept that’s the way I am?”

He shook his head vigorously. “No, it’s not that. You don’t trust me. I know you don’t. You didn’t tell me what Ludwig said. Goddammit those were my babies too, Sookie!”

I gasped, feeling the thrust of his words go deep, stabbing into my guilt-ridden fairy core. “That was private!” Oh God, he knew. He knew I’d failed him as a woman, as a wife, because of my traitorous fairy ancestry, knew I’d never be able to give him children.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was the blood? Did you think I would blame you? I love you, Sook. I had a right to know.”

“I … I …” I was immensely relieved that he didn’t know everything … yet. We were skating on thin ice over freezing water, one crack and our marriage could drown in the awful truth.

I swallowed hard. I wasn’t ready to come clean. I hedged, giving him a piece of the truth. “Ludwig said the blood has nothing to do with it.”

He grabbed me and yelled in my face. “Don’t lie! You always protect them Sook! They don’t deserve it. I don’t know why I’m even surprised.” _There’s always been a third person in this marriage, keeping us apart. Fucking Eric. She still wants him._

With that, he pushed me aside and bolted for the door, throwing it open. I stood stunned for a second, not knowingwhether I was shocked by the sheer volume, the pain in his voice or the thoughts that followed.

Then I ran out after him, yelling his name. “Sam! Sam, wait!” He was outside, making for his truck. “Sam Merlotte, don’t’ you dare get in that truck drunk!”

He stopped with his hand on the door, warring with himself.

“Fine,” he growled out, without facing me. “Go home.”

I swallowed my pride and begged. “Come with me. Please Sam, come home.”

“I’ll come home when I’m good and ready.”

With that he marched over to the trailer, fumbled with his keys to unlock the door and slammed it shut behind him.

  
  



	12. Drawing Out the Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: There is a short but gruesome torture scene in this chapter. It's the third section of italics, and I've marked the start and end of it with a line break for those who want to skip it.

I rose hungry for blood. It was late and I hadn’t rested well.

Pam was lying next to me. When I stirred, she propped herself up on her elbow to look at me. She was relieved. I glanced over to the clock.

Seven. Two hours after sunset. Not good.

She warmed blood for me, fed me a drop of potion, and went to shower.

When she came back twenty minutes later, I felt functional. Like shit, but functional.

“Ludwig called. The healer will see you at the clinic at nine.”

I snorted. “Brigant is eager to discharge his debt.”

“I don’t trust him Eric. We don’t know anything about this healer.”

“He keeps his word Pamela.” I said sharply. “I can hardly refuse help, even from the fae. Now, run me a bath. Please.”

…

A quarter after eight. Pam helped me dress in loose slacks and a sweater, and tied my shoes.

One last thing. I reached for the gloves. They were ingenious. Ludwig knew the creator, and these were bespoke, a prototype made for me. Designed for vampires, the hollow metal frames inside gave shape to the leather and adjusted as the fingers regrew. They were part technology, part magic. Sensors woven into the palms and magic at the joints gave the wearer control over movement.

My right hand was just a club, all five digits gone. Even with the glove it wasn’t much use, no strength in the grip, only good enough to fool a casual inspection. On the left, I still had my thumb and up to the first joints of the fingers, so with the glove that hand had more function.

I pulled them on with my teeth, flexing my hands to settle them. Ready.

…

I walked in unaided, and took the seat in front of Ludwig’s desk. Pam and Thalia stood behind me.

A woman wearing pale green scrubs sat on the corner of the desk looking over a file: slender, above average height, milky white skin, bright green eyes and deep red hair pulled back in a tight chignon. Fae from her appearance. No scent. Masking it was wise.

Ludwig introduced her gruffly. “This is the healer sent by Brigant. Rory Kingfisher.”

Rory closed the file. “And you are Eric Northman.” We exchanged nods.

She put the file down and spoke briskly. “I can’t promise a full recovery. I’ve treated vampires only once, and much milder injuries. Frankly, I agreed to this to get more fang experience.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Who of my kind did you work on?”

“Leopold of Styria and two of his guard.”

I sat forward. “In Bohemia. The fae held them hostage.”

She answered warily. “Yes. They were de-fanged. One of them lost three fingers.”

Promising. They’d been released fully healed, as part of the ransom deal. Almost three centuries ago too: she wasn’t as young as she appeared. “So, how do we do this?”

She exchanged looks with Ludwig. “We have a room prepared. It will take a couple of hours, but we’ll finish well before dawn.” She added a warning. “It will be painful.”

“Understood.” Pam hissed, but the healer didn’t look away from my eyes.

“And you will have to be restrained.”

Pam outright snarled at her.

Ludwig growled back, “Stow it, vampire. My clinic, my rules. That’s the way it is, or she walks. I guaranteed her safety.”

Still scrutinising the healer’s clear green eyes for deceit I asked, “Do you guarantee _my_ safety healer?”

“I do.” Unblinking, no tells. Only a few rare fae could lie baldly without them. Safe enough to chance it.

“I will agree to restraints.”

Pam stepped forward, fangs down. “If you harm my maker, I will hunt you down.”

The healer grinned at her impishly. “I like to be chased, but I’m afraid I don’t swing your way.”

Pam blinked, momentarily speechless. Thalia muffled a snort behind me and my mouth twitched.

As Ludwig led us out Pam recovered enough to mutter, “Fae never do, just my fucking luck.”

…

The room was brightly lit. White tiles. Drains in the floor. I ruthlessly repressed memories of another room.

A large glass shower was built into one corner, and a hospital bed was pushed up against one wall, making room for the large coffin-shaped copper tub that sat in the middle of the floor. Three thick silver chains sheathed in clear plastic lay draped across it, the ends hanging over the sides. Wide pipes ran from the taps at one end of the tub to a large raised tank, surrounded by more pipes and machinery. Pam inspected the contraption, and tested a silver chain gingerly. No burning. She sniffed, giving me a reluctant nod of approval.

She came over to me when I closed our bond. I said softly in Norse, “ _Don’t worry. I will be fine_.”

She frowned. “ _Call me if she puts an eyelash out of line and I’ll rip her head off myself_.”

“Right, you two. Let’s leave them to it.” Ludwig ushered Thalia and Pam out, Pam throwing the healer a last glare as they left.

The door clanged as it was barred from the outside. Ominous, but if I needed to be restrained… Fans whirred on, and vents in the ceiling sucked gently. Removing her scent? I was about to ask when she spoke.

“I’ll set up while you undress.” She waved vaguely at the bed, and turned away to focus on the valves and dials on the complicated apparatus.

I took my time. Shoes under the bed. Sweater and pants folded neatly on top of it. I fumbled with the prosthesis, but got it off. Gloves would have to be last. Silk boxers next. I steeled myself. She glanced over, saying hurriedly, “Oh, you can keep those on.”

I relaxed, relieved. Then winced. She knew. Ludwig’s file …

Then she was next to me, peeling off the gloves gently. She peered inside one, fascinated. Put it on, wiggled the fingers. It was too big for her, but she whistled.

“These are so cool,” she breathed. “Expensive?”

I nodded.

“Shame you won’t need them anymore if this works. Fingers crossed, eh?”

I looked at my hands pointedly and back up to her.

She actually face palmed, groaning. I chuckled.

“Sorry,” she sighed. “Can you make it to the bath?”

I floated gently over and lowered myself into it. “Useful ability,” she said, bending over me to wrap me in the heavy chains. She locked them securely.

She was serious then, saying soberly, “This is the experimental part.” She gestured to the tank. “Bloodbath. Human and fae.”

I blinked. “How much fae?”

“One part in three.”

I looked at the tank. Fuck. “That’s a lot.” I was still weak from the night before, but I pulled hard on the chains, estimating their strength. “They should hold; do you have silver on you?”

She shook her head. “I’ll risk it. I can pop away if you get loose. Now listen. I’m going to open the taps. It’ll fill fast, so I’ll start healing straight away. It will hurt like a bitch, but the pain should keep you relatively sober. Once the blood covers you, drink as much as you can. It’ll refill automatically, and the more you drink the more your injuries will heal.”

I smirked slightly. “It’s not every night a fairy asks me to drink as much fae blood as I can.”

She didn’t smile. “I’m only part-fae. Ready?”

I nodded and she threw the taps open. Liquid gurgled rapidly down the pipes, and then chugged into the bath noisily.

The smell hit me, and my empty gums ached. Then she pushed her hands onto my chest, and I felt warmth. Pain exploded in my gums, my hands, and my leg without warning. I roared in shock, arching my back. Finally, after a minute of agony that felt longer, the blood reached my neck. I twisted my shoulders, turned my face into it, and sucked greedily as it rose over me. Everything went red, then dark.

I drank and drank. My world narrowed to three sensations: hunger, twisting and clawing in my gut; delirium, buzzing and pulsing inside my skull; and pain, raging fire in my bones.

…

Gradually the pain washed away, and the inky darkness became a warm red.

A wet sucking gurgle built to a crescendo and faded away. Familiar, it tickled my memory tantalisingly for a second. My thoughts were sluggish. Where was I?

I blinked slowly. Light.

A blurred face over me, words.

A woman. I growled at her scent. Fae.

My fangs were down, but I wasn’t hungry. I tried to move and got nowhere. I frowned, tugging on … chains. I was chained. As I moved, the noise echoed hollowly in the … no, not a coffin. I squinted at my surroundings. Copper, coated with blood.

A weak voice. “Eric. Eric Northman. You in there?”

I blinked to clear my vision. Green eyes. The healer … Rory.

She was on the floor, slumped against the tub, watching me and sipping amber liquid from a glass vial. Her arms were bloody to the elbows, the front of her scrubs smeared red. I mumbled her name and tried to sit up. She put a hand on my chest.

“Easy, easy. Let’s get the fae blood rinsed off you first.” She downed the rest of the vial –a tonic? – and disappeared from view. I wriggled, propping myself up to watch her.

Crossing the room to a large steel sink by the door, she washed off the blood and dried her arms. She reached over to twist a dial on the wall and the fans got louder. Then she lifted a coiled hose out from behind the sink, screwing one end on to the tap. She unwound it as she crossed the room back to me.

“This will be cold but fast.” She turned it on full and I lay back down, turning over so she could get my back. She hosed me down thoroughly, sluicing the coagulating blood down the large-bore drain. With the fans sucking the scent from the room as well, my head finally cleared.

“You back to yourself vampire?”

My throat was thick with blood. I swallowed hard to clear it, willing my fangs up with a snick. “Mostly.”

“Good. I wasn’t sure how much of the leg we’d get back – I’ve never done a limb before.”

I could feel … I lifted my head. Yes. My eyes traced my calf, my ankle, my heel, my foot. I wiggled the stumps of my toes and grinned broadly. She’d saved me months of healing, months of pain.

I looked up to catch her inspecting the rest of me. She waved at my ruined boxers. “Soft tissue must be easier.”

I coughed. “Fae blood. It has that effect.”

She reached over to unlock the chains, frowning at my chest. “Those scars haven’t faded completely, though. You should shower.”

I nodded and waited for her to step back before I cautiously got up.

I walked to the cubicle, delighted to make two sets of blood-tinged footprints on the tiles. Inside I inspected my hands while the water warmed. The left was almost fully back, barely the fingertips missing. The right just lacked the last half inch or so, the nails missing on all the fingers. Not bad. With the toes, it would only take a week or two of feeding well to heal it all.

Fangs. I could feed from the source again.

I snicked them down a few times for the hell of it, running my tongue over them and smiling. The glass was fogged with steam now. I ripped off the boxers, dropping them on the floor. I checked visually and manually. Everything as it should be. I closed my eyes for a second and shivered at the sensation of water on sensitive new skin. The healer was waiting. I would be respectful. Soon, though.

I grabbed the solitary soap bottle and squeezed out a generous amount. Aniseed? Bergamot? It had a clean fresh smell that chased the last remnants of fae from my nose. I scrubbed my hair then my body with it, rinsing well.

Shutting off the shower, I slid open the door and stepped out in a billow of steam to grab a towel. The healer looked up, startled. Her eyes widened. She licked her lips unconsciously.

Oh. Interesting.

I wound the towel around my waist slowly, watching her. She was wearing a clean jade green sundress. It suited her.

Her eyes met mine, and she stepped towards me, smiling faintly. “You know, there’s something else I’ve never done with a vampire…”

I let my gaze run over her. “What do you have in mind?”

She looked at the bed and back to me. “You can’t bite.” She stepped to the bath and lifted one of the chains. “To be safe?”

I wavered. Did I trust her? I nodded cautiously.

She grinned like a kid in a candy store, and I sauntered to the bed, giving her plenty of time to admire what she saw. I dropped the towel and draped myself on the mattress, hands casually behind my head. She laughed and pulled my hands down, draping the chain across my neck. “There. I won’t lock it if you behave.”

Then she reached down and pulled her dress up and off in one sinuous move, dropping it carelessly to the floor. My fangs snicked down at the sight of her pale body, and part of me that had been MIA for far too long sprang to attention.

She jumped lightly onto the bed, straddling me. “Hmm. I suppose I can’t expect you to do your race proud.”

I smirked at her, and glanced down. “Oh, that sounds like a challenge I can _rise to_.”

“Well, I don’t know, technically this …” She stroked me and I hissed. “Is virgin territory right now.”

I laughed. Then I set about showing her just how wrong she was, partly in gratitude for the healing, but mostly for myself. I needed it, needed to prove I was whole again.

…

I leant back against the wall, sitting sideways across the bed so I could stretch my legs out. Rory was sitting cross-legged on the mattress, still naked. She’d dispensed with the chain after the first time.

The pink trail I’d left across the white tiles reminded me of blood on another bathroom floor, setting off a chain of thoughts about last night. The sound of Sookie’s laboured breathing, the head injury. Humans were so fragile.

And yet she was still full of fire. The way she’d greeted Niall cautiously despite his status, the way she’d stood up to the shifter, fiercely independent … fearlessly cut her own wrist to feed me. Admiration warmed me. She was indomitable, determined to be her own woman. Beautiful.

On the edge of my vision, Rory leant back on her arms, arching her back. I wasn’t paying her much notice until she sat up and tilted her head, squinting at me.

“So, who is she?”

I frowned at her. “Who?”

She leant forward, placing her hand on my chest. “The one who has this.”

I looked down, stiffening when I realised what she meant. I grabbed her hand and removed it, dropping it back in her lap and giving her a warning look.

She looked down at her hand for a moment, then shrugged. “Sorry. You were thinking of her. It is a her, right?”

My eyes widened and I growled, “You know my thoughts. You’re a telepath.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “I’m an empath.”

“An empath,” I said slowly. “Feelings? You can tell what I’m feeling?”

“Yes.” She weighed me up for a few seconds, and then went on. “It’s a demon trait.”

“What?” She was fae… wasn’t she?

She lifted her hand and a flame sprang up in her palm.

I hissed and drew back reflexively. She closed her hand, extinguishing the flame, and regarded me steadily.

I looked at her closely. She could pass for human, but her appearance _was_ fae if you knew what to look for: the slight point of her ears, the translucent skin. I inhaled. She didn’t smell like demon. Or fae. Not that I knew what scent that combination of races would have. I’d thought she was suppressing her scent for protection, but perhaps she had no need to do so. Her taste, on the other hand, would almost certainly betray her origins.

“So if I’d bitten you…”

“You would have definitely spit not swallowed,” she finished with a smirk.

I laughed. Demon blood, full demon anyway, was rumoured to taste like battery acid. When Pam heard that one, she wondered who’d tried battery acid which she judged showed more stupidity than drinking demon blood. Her reasoning was that at least that was _blood_ , however corrosive.

I was curious about the strange hybrid in front of me. “I was not aware demon and fae could procreate.”

She grimaced. “No, I’m a rare breed.”

That was clearly a sore subject, so I switched topics. “I’ve never met an empath. Unless I met one and never knew, demons are normally secretive about their talents.” It was strange that she had chosen to share that, but I wasn’t going to pass up the chance to learn as much as I could.

“Yes, they are. But something tells me you know how to keep a secret.”

“Perhaps,” I grinned. “What races can you sense?”

“Oh, pretty much all of them. So far. Some individuals are harder than others. It’s not much use with those who don’t hide their emotions. Or those I know well enough to read their body language.”

She seemed comfortable talking about her ability, so I indulged in another question. “Do all races feel the same?”

“There are some subtle differences. Bloodlust, for example, is unique to vampire, but not unlike battle rage in fae, or the excitement of a hunt for shapeshifters.” She glanced at the rumpled bed and smirked. “But all the species I’ve got up close and personal with feel a similar range of emotions. It really varies more with the individual.”

“And the healing? Is that a demon trait too?”

“No, that’s fae. Mostly.” She thought for a second. “It’s rare for fae to be able to heal more than minor scrapes. What I do piggybacks on your own healing ability, accelerates it – I can’t get fae or humans to regrow limbs like that. It pulls energy from me into the patient to speed up the normal process. For you, I needed the blood to feed it too.”

That fit with what Niall said when he healed Sookie’s wrist. It also explained why, outside his need to keep fae resources secret, Niall hadn’t offered a fae healer when Sookie had been tortured. Vampire blood did more than speed up healing; it reduced scarring as well, actually regenerating flesh and bone to some extent, as we did when we healed.

“That is a useful ability. You must be valued in fae society.” I was fishing. It was a rare opportunity, a fae willing to talk about herself. Part-fae, I corrected.

She snorted. “Oh, my healing is much sought after, yes.” Then she added slyly, “Especially with the empathy to compliment it.”

“How so? Do you use it to monitor pain in your patients?”

“Sometimes, but it’s more than that.” She was watching me closely now. Why?

I stiffened at a sudden hunch, and asked sharply, “Can you manipulate feelings? Have your manipulated mine?” I watched her reaction carefully. She wasn’t afraid.

“No. Not manipulate them, no. I can absorb them.”

I frowned. “Is that helpful?”

She looked at me intently, and said quietly, “Yes. In my line it is. I specialise in healing those who’ve been tortured.”

Oh.

“In fact,” she gestured at the copper tub, “that was only half the job. I can heal the damage to your psyche. If you agree.”

“I’m fine,” I said stiffly. “I’ve survived worse.”

“Really?” she said dubiously. “Because I can sense the damage, and it’s not insignificant. I can speed up your recovery. Reduce the trauma, the flashbacks, that kind of thing.”

She waited then. I was replaying our conversation, searching for any point when she’d used her ability to read my feelings to manipulate me. Unless… I narrowed my eyes at her. “Did you fuck me so I would relax, trust you?”

She chuckled. “You do cast a reflection, don’t you?” Then, seeing I wasn’t convinced, she shrugged. “I really hadn’t had a vampire before. Probably the only chance I’ll get.”

I was still eyeing her suspiciously.

She rolled her eyes at me. “Okay, okay, maybe I thought it would break the ice.”

I folded my arms. “And now you expect me to what? Talk through my feelings, ‘ _open up_ ’ to you,” I sneered.

“Men! Human, fae, vampire you’re all so–,” She stopped herself, closed her eyes and shook her head with a groan. She started again in a softer voice. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I’m not Freud. It doesn’t work like that.”

I looked at her for a minute. Curiosity began to win out and her mouth twitched. She could feel my resolve waivering. Damn her. I reluctantly asked, “How _does_ it work then?”

“You close your eyes, remember what happened, and I absorb the feelings, take the sting out of it so you can work through it dispassionately. I think of it as drawing out the poison so the wound can heal.”

“I see.” Maybe… “And you’ve treated many like this?”

“Mostly humans, a few fae. It should work on you the same way.”

I hated the flashbacks. From past experience they would last months. I weighed up the potential benefits. Factored in my curiosity to see, or rather feel her at work.

A grin slowly spread across her face. She could tell. I growled, “Don’t gloat.” Then I sighed, pulling my hair back. “Alright. I’m willing to give it a try. Do we have time tonight?”

“Yes, it shouldn’t take long.” She reached over and took my hand in hers. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I couldn’t repress the flashbacks in downtime, but I’d never willingly relived the memories when I was awake, preferring to leave them in the past. Least seen, soonest mended.

I breathed deeply and slowly a few times, relaxing, clearing my mind. Then I closed my eyes and put myself back in Freyda’s custody. The scenes flowed by quickly, and the feelings were cushioned, muted at the extremes. Part of my mind was detached, observing, and I was aware it was all just a very vivid memory.

…

_They patted me down and threw me into a basement holding cell. It was one of six. Silver coated steel bars, reinforced walls. I’d seen the_ _specs_ _when I first reviewed security. There was no way to break out from inside. Freyda had me in a cage for real._

_I threw myself at the walls a few times to vent some rage._

_And to loosen the chain around my legs. They hadn’t padlocked it. I got my cuffed hands to it and finished pushing it off, ignoring the burn. It would heal, I’d fed well earlier. The silver would weaken me more if I left it on. I kicked the loose chain into a corner. The fools had left me a weapon. I showed fang at the camera opposite the cell._

_I worked the cuffs in front of me next. I was examining them when the door at the end of the corridor opened. I jumped to my feet as Jephson and three weres came into view. They stopped well back from the bars. One of the younger ones was very twitchy. He’d seen me after the lobby bloodbath._

_Jephson eyed me, showing me the keys in his hand. “Pass the chain out first.”_

_I shrugged, and nudged it closer to the bars with my foot. They’d take it out in the day anyway. Jephson glanced over at his weres, and one darted forward, stretched to his full reach to grab the chain, and shot back like his ass was on fire._

_Jephson shook his head at him. He stepped up to the bars, gesturing for me to do the same. I put my wrists gingerly through them, and he unlocked the cuffs. We exchanged a look, hidden from view. If I read him right, neither of us would reveal his part in bugging Yasmin._

_I was left on my own. I lay in the middle of the floor, hands behind my head, planning furiously. My only chance was convincing Freyda this was Nadia’s doing. I sketched out some strategies._

_I doubted they would work, given the way things had been since the sniper._

_I shouldn’t have let my resentment over Ocella’s meddling in my life, or my anger at the way things ended in Louisiana, spill over to colour my treatment of Freyda. I should have built a stronger rapport with her, hidden my true feelings for longer. I spent a minute berating myself for my pride, my reluctance to even pretend I’d be hers willingly, and my flat refusal to please her sexually._

_Then I moved on._

_I had underestimated Nadia based on the vampire I knew centuries ago. She had matured, no longer impulsive and obvious in her desires. She had become masterfully controlled, politically adroit. I knew in my gut she had set this up._

_Freyda would never enter into such an uneven marriage as the weaker partner. Not until she had me as a shield against the stronger queen. When had Nadia’s plot begun? Had she had a hand in my fateful marriage? It killed two birds with one stone. It got me out of Louisiana, and gave Freyda the security to marry Nadia, giving her access to Oklahoma’s resources for her plans._

_My gut twisted at a sudden idea. If Freyda’s interest in me was widely known… Her ascension had been very sudden, unheard of so young. Did Nadia ‘help’ her onto the throne to bring me here? If so, Freyda didn’t have a clue how long Nadia had been manipulating her…_

_Ocella had never explained how he and Alexei came to be in Oklahoma. Nadia knew how proud he was, what he liked, what to bribe him with. If she’d been pulling strings behind the scenes … I suddenly felt like a fly trapped in a very sticky web._

…

_Freyda sat in a chair brought down for her. Jean-Luc stood behind her. I was relaxed, cross-legged on the floor, watching her closely through the bars. She was still angry. I let her begin._

“ _You have caused Oklahoma a great deal of trouble.”_

_I spoke evenly. “Explain how I organised this attack. How I contacted and paid a group of Weres and human thugs from all over the country. You monitor my cell and laptop. You control my money.”_

_Jean-Luc said coldly, “Your child Karin has links to New York where the earliest hiring was done.”_

“ _And let’s not forget you had help from Texas.” Freyda spat._

“ _I barely spoke to Wallace. I questioned him once, as you know. You have the tape.”_

_She stilled a moment. Good. I’d reminded her that we’d suspected Boscombe and Jean-Luc of the bombing, of an attack on her. I willed her to pick up that I wasn’t revealing that because I still doubted Jean-Luc’s loyalty. That meant I suspected something bigger was going on. Come on Freyda, think._

_She scowled at me. “Wallace wasn’t the only agent of Texas connected to you.”_

_My turn to frown. “Who?”_

_She snorted. “Really, Eric? You expected I would not see past the joking, the male bonding, the insinuation you were lovers?”_

_A curve ball. I let myself look as confused as I felt. “Lovers? Who are you talking about?”_

_Too much. I’d overplayed the innocence._

_She shut down, her face hardening as her ice queen persona emerged. “Nikolai. Nikolai was a spy. I wasn’t sure whose until he began befriending you. Then I knew. I expected Texas to make contact with you. My spies report that Pamela is close to him.”_

_Nikolai? For Texas? Fuck._

_Puzzle pieces were sliding into place: the way she watched Nikolai after I killed that Chosen scum. She believed there was something between us. Thinking that I might betray her for Texas back then, eighteen months ago, probably pushed her into agreeing to marry Nadia in January. Fuck. All because I enjoyed Nikolai’s sense of humour._

_She’d spent over a year labelling me a traitor. It was too late to reason with her. Her mind was made._

_I kept silent._

_She glared at me, taking my silence as an admission. Anger and jealousy coloured her voice as Freyda the woman came out for a second._

“ _You didn’t even attempt to hide it. Whether you and Nikolai were lovers or not,” she tried to shrug casually, “the rumours were an insult to the throne. I thought his death would be enough to keep you in line.”_

_I looked between them. “You set him up.”_

“ _Of course. He had to go.” She added bitterly, “I should have removed Wallace as well. Texas has always been our biggest threat.”_

_More pieces. She left Wallace in place, trusting Boscombe to handle him. Feeding a known spy poor information is a good tactic. Did she still trust Boscombe? He was the likely candidate for framing Wallace, and therefore me, unless someone else had laid a trail for him to find. Unless it had actually been Texas, and I was just collateral damage…_

_She stood. “I’m done. We could have been great, Eric. If you’d been loyal to me.”_

_I rose to my feet. “You need to think longer term Freyda. Open your eyes to the big picture. With me out of the way, who benefits?”_

“ _Enough! I gave you a position of power, I raised you to consort. You owe me everything, from the fast cars to the designer clothes on your back! And what did I get in return? Respect? Gratitude? No. I get arrogance. Male fucking pride. Fucking insulted in bed. You just couldn’t accept power if it came from a woman could you?” She was yelling again._

“ _Have you just discovered feminism? It has nothing to do with your gender. My respect is earned not bought. And no slave is grateful for being dragged from his life,” I spat._

“ _Oh please! A sheriff in some backwater, that dive of a bar, what the fuck did you lose?”_

_I bit back the words. I would not put her at risk now. Freyda would never understand anyway. I got control of myself, and stepped to the bars, motioning her closer. It was a long shot, and risky with Nadia in the palace. I looked at the camera pointedly._

_She glared but I didn’t budge. With a growl she made a gesture at the camera and its red light winked off._

“ _Say what you have to say.”_

“ _How did my maker end up in Oklahoma? Who helped you negotiate with him?”_

_Her eyes widened in surprise. She paused to think, and then she hissed suddenly._

“ _You know. Ocella found out somehow, told you. That’s why you blamed–”_ _S_ _he choked off her thought._

_Fuck. That did not work the way I expected. Again, I had no idea what she was talking about. I tried one last time. “Ocella told me nothing his time here.”_

_She snorted. “I don’t believe you. He was as proud and arrogant as you are. You planned this with him, planned to betray me all along, made a deal with Texas before we wed.”_

_With that she turned to Jean-Luc. “We’re leaving. I’ve indulged this traitor long enough.”_

…

* * *

…

_I rose the next night upright, naked and manacled to a wall with padded silver. White tiles. The interrogation room. I smelt Were, but I was alone. I might be alone all night. Standard protocol: it builds anticipation. Fear makes the victim crack sooner._

_In front of me was a steel table. I looked at the implements. Silver whips. Knives. Hooks. Standard._

_The two machines I was ignoring were not. I allowed myself to look at them. I stared for a long time. Some sort of slicer. A meat grinder. Industrial machines. Gleaming steel._

_I let the fear flood through me for a while. Then I brought it under control. Fought through anger at my fate, self-recrimination for the mistakes that lead here, grief at opportunities lost. Worry for those I’d be leaving unprotected._

_Then I accepted it. Accepted what those machines meant._

_It would be long and bloody. That I could, would deal with. It was what it meant that Freyda was prepared to do this. She had ruled me a traitor._

_Traitors had one fate._

_I would die here._

_There was no way out of this room._

_No-one in the palace would help me. Jephson couldn’t risk it, I understood that, and he’d done enough already. If Nikolai was alive, if Texas wanted me out… But I was fairly sure Stan’s interest in me was all in Freyda’s head. He certainly hadn’t approached me beyond passing me that one message from Pam._

_If my last message got to Pam then Nevada might intervene before the solstice to stop Nadia’s power trip, but more likely he’d reinforce Louisiana and wait, make sure her attack failed._

_No-one would mount a rescue for me, a lone vampire, when thrones hung in the balance._

_There was no hope._

_Bitterness filled me. Fucking Ocella. If he hadn’t been so proud, so embarrassed to learn I’d married … I forced those thoughts away._

_Practical things first. I eyed the machines again. It was likely I would lose control of the bonds with my children. They would feel my pain. I had to warn them now._

_We had a system. A simple code I had used for centuries, taught Pam soon after she rose._

_Once was ‘Come now’._

_Twice was ‘Come cautiously. There is danger.’_

_Three times was ‘Stay away. Whatever happens, stay away. Whatever you feel, stay away. Too dangerous.’ I’d drummed it into them._

_So that’s what I did. I gathered my strength and began, sending as strongly as I could. I kept the bonds wide open hoping to feel a response. But as Pam and Karin were both too far away to feel, I didn’t hold out for an answer._

_Three calls seconds apart. A gap of five minutes. Three calls again. Over and over, all night._

…

_I was slapped awake, silvered several times in the day. Weres. I counted ten times. Every hour or so._

_That night Freyda allowed Salvatore to go first. She told him no amputations. He didn’t hold back. I had broken bones, cuts and slashes by the end of the night. But I’d been fed in between sessions. It was painful, but I stayed in control._

_Freyda talked to me between Salvatore’s vengeful attentions. At times disappointed, at times harshly berating me for my ingratitude. I didn’t respond. She didn’t ask about the warning I’d sent to Pam. I hoped that she didn’t know._

_I had a brief respite for an hour or so before dawn. Then the Weres began in the day. I counted eleven._

_This repeated for three more nights and days. Slowly Freyda began hinting, skirting around their plans, goading me to see if I knew anything. That’s what she wanted, how much I knew. So I gave her nothing. Swore at her, spat at her, cursed her._

_Then they pulled my fangs out._

…

_The next night Freyda was in the observation booth. Nadia had come to play._

_She talked through what she was going to do, a lesson for her younger protégé. The silver brands. The whips impregnated with silver dust cursed to leave scars. Where to cut for the most pain._

_She questioned me dispassionately between tools. What did I know of her plans? Who were my contacts? I was silent._

_The Weres woke me over twenty times the next day. I was tired, hungry. If Nadia was here, devoting time to interrogating me, she wasn’t moving on Louisiana yet. In my exhaustion, logic twisted and I thought if I could ‘entertain’ her, delay her, I would, in some way, be helping my children and Sookie._

_Nadia came back. She began taking fingers. Cutting, smashing with hammers. Then she experimented with the grinder and the slicer. It could slice bone. I yelled myself hoarse cursing._

_The next day began to blur. I lost count at six awakenings. The night was a blur of pain. Echoing yells. Nadia’s gloating. She and Freyda took turns whipping me, and then violating me. My humiliations slid past image after image._

_Then the nights and days blurred. I lost coherence, survived moment to moment._

_I relived it in snatches … slowly losing my leg slice by slice… losing my manhood to the grinder… the taste of my own flesh … the retching… the beatings … flayed skin… silver dust … agony, horror, bone-gnawing hunger again and again…_

_I was out of my mind, hallucinating… but somewhere… a glimpse of Nadia’s snarling face, blood and gobbets of my flesh dripping down it, feeling triumphant that I’d spat on her. Then she said casually to Freyda, as she wiped her face, “Is the telepath arriving tonight?” I roared and fought the chains, spitting and cursing with an energy I hadn’t had for nights…_

_I held to one thought after that. She was_ not _here. If she was here Nadia would have her beaten and worse in front of me._

 _I held on to that hard. When I rose one night and no-one came, it was all I thought. She wasn’t here. They weren’t somewhere else torturing her instead of me … She was_ **not** _here._

_I was fading when the door finally burst open._

_A blood-soaked figure. I cowered away from it as I was released from the wall. Then it bit its own wrist and I smelt… Pam._

_She shoved her bloody wrist into my mouth, cursing like a sailor. I swallowed a few mouthfuls then pushed her arm away._

“ _Sookie… here? Safe?” I croaked._

“ _Drink, drink. She’s safe at home. I swear it.”_

…

* * *

…

I came back to myself curled up on the bed. I felt … drained. Exhausted but lighter, like the feeling after a hard-won battle from my human days: weary, sore in places, feeling the losses, but relieved, the euphoria of survival beginning to take hold.

I sat up, and registered that Rory was not on the bed at the same time that I heard vomiting. She was bent over the sink. She rinsed her mouth out and spat a few times, and I realised she was sobbing quietly.

Great, two of my least favourite things: vomit and a crying woman.

“Are you all right?” I didn’t move.

“Uh-huh.” She sniffed, splashed her face with cool water and grabbed a paper towel to dry it. She came over and picked up her dress, slipping it back on. She wouldn’t meet my eyes. She seemed… embarrassed.

“Does that usually happen?” I asked cautiously, gesturing at the sink.

She shook her head. “I… It was so overwhelming.” She looked up, tears filling her eyes, and she whispered, “How did you stand it? How did you stay strong?”

I grimaced. “I’ve had practise. And Pam insists no-one is more stubborn than I am.”

She half laughed, half sobbed.

I waited for her to find some equilibrium.

She sniffed and wiped her face. “You feel better.”

I nodded, and said quietly, “I didn’t realise you meant it literally, when you said absorb–”

She interrupted firmly. “It’s fine. I only feel a muted version as I take it in. It didn’t happen to me, I didn’t see it. It’s not the same.”

“But you felt the pain.”

She shrugged. “I download on another empath now and again, to stop the stress building up. Just like talking therapists have to download or they burn out. It’s not your concern.”

I looked at her for a minute. She stared steadily back.

Eventually she broke, looked away and sighed. “Pam is right. You are stubborn! It’s time to go. Get dressed. Please. I’m tired.”

I dressed slowly, thinking. I owed her. How much? More than I wanted to, I thought. Much more.

When I was done, she was waiting patiently on the bed, swinging her legs.

“What exactly did Niall expect of you tonight?”

She grinned slightly. “Not just stubborn, clever too. Just the physical healing. Niall thought that was sufficient to repay his debt to you. I’m expensive though. That must have been something spectacular you did for him.” She looked at me expectantly. “Not going to say, huh?”

I shook my head. “Why did you do more?”

“The fae don’t expect me to heal their psyches, they do the whole touchy-feely family bonding emotional healing thing. I need the practice.”

Family bond? Sookie’s cousin… I knew she was happy that he was living with her after her torture, I thought because she felt safer. I wondered if she knew about that.

Back to the part-fae in front of me. I hadn’t missed the slight shift in her stance. She was being evasive. “You could practise on anyone. Why do this for me?”

She shrugged and looked away. “You’re a vampire. I wanted to try it on you.”

I snorted and shook my head. “Why? The truth.”

She sighed, gave up the pretence and looked me in the eye. “It’s what I do. You needed it.”

I was right. She had healed me at some cost to herself, for no return. Simply because she had the gift.

I was aghast at what I was about to do, but… it was right. I swallowed. She was watching me with concern, trying to decipher my strange feeling of horrified resolve. Hah. She couldn’t work it out. Shit, I was really going to do this.

I squared my shoulders, looked her straight in the eye and said, “Thank you.”

I felt … something. A faint ripple in my chest. Like passing through a ward, but weaker. It didn’t sweep over me like a ward, which felt like passing through a curtain of magic. Instead it spread out from my chest. So that’s what it felt like to hand my fate over to a fae. Weird, magical. That figured.

Rory gaped. Like a fish.

I was amused for a second until she covered her mouth and her eyes filled with tears.

I groaned. “Woman, what are you crying for now?”

She shook her head, wiped her eyes and grinned through the tears. She took a deep breath and held out her hand. “Sorcha. Sorcha Aideen Petrides.”

I blinked. Her real name.

I took her hand, kissed the back of it, and bowed deeply. “You honour me with your true name Sorcha Aideen Petrides. I will keep it secret. I swear it on my blood.”

She bowed in return, and stretched to kiss my check.

Then she winked. “I think we should go, before your child breaks down the door.”

“You can feel her?”

“Only if she’s less than ten feet away, and not on the other side of a hulking metal door. Educated guess, it’s an hour before dawn.”

Shit, our connection was closed. I must have shut it while I was still dazed from the fae blood. I opened it and was flooded with a wave of Pam’s anxiety. She _was_ just outside. I called her once gently, picking up the gloves and prosthesis.

There was a metallic noise, the bolt sliding back, and then Pam threw the door open, striding into the room. “Fae if you have …” She stopped, looking from the leg in my hands to my feet and back.

Rory grinned at her smugly. “I think what you meant to say was: ‘Oh, thank you gracious fae, Rory of the reddest hair, the fairest face, for you are a healer without compare, and you have saved my maker and I will be your slave forever and a day.’”

Pam looked her up and down with a leer and opened her mouth to make a witty comment, no doubt about what sort of slave she’d like to be, and then the scent in the room hit her.

She raised an eyebrow at me, simultaneously pissed and amused. “You were fucking her while I was worried she’d staked you or you’d drained her dry?”

Rory grinned even wider. “Oh no, _I_ was fucking _him_. All part of the service. Shame you’re not a patient.”

Pam spluttered.

“You could cut your own tongue out or something if you’re desperate to have me. I mean, all you seem to do is choke on it anyway.”

Rory threw a wink at me and sauntered out of the room. I stifled my chuckle when Pam glared at me.

Then she caught sight of my hands. She blurred to my side, grabbing my free hand to examine it. Relief washed through her. “It’s over,” she whispered.

I put my arm around her shoulders and kissed her head. “Yes. It’s over.”

I felt her relax as the knot of worry and responsibility she’d been carrying for months unravelled. I whispered, “Thank you for everything. Now let’s go home.”


	13. A Little Conversation

Kennedy found me in the back lot, staring blindly at the trailer door Sam had slammed behind him, tears trailing down my cheeks.

She offered to take me home, but I pulled myself together enough to convince her I was okay to drive. The whole bar had heard our fight, and I was mortified now I wasn't caught up in it. Kennedy, bless her, had turned the game up on the TV so the Sunday crowd couldn't hear us clearly.

When I got home I ran a hot bath. It must have been as salty as seawater by the time I got out. It was certainly cold. I dried myself off numbly, and picked out a pair of comfortable pyjamas Tara had given me last Christmas.

I walked round the house locking up alone, feeling single again. Grudgingly I left the kitchen deadbolt unlocked in case Sam came home.

I didn't understand what was going on in Sam's head. I'd never done anything to inspire the torrent of jealousy and mistrust he'd hurled at me mentally. We’d talked about Eric very briefly way back before we really got together. It was once, maybe twice, and it was definitely Sam that brought him up, not me. I'd never mentioned him since.

Sure, the first few months after Eric left, I had occasional stray thoughts about him when I was home alone at night: angry ones about the way he left, spiteful ones about Freyda, bitter ones about wasting time on someone who was never going to put me first, or lonely ones, just plain missing him. I'd seen enough break ups in other people's heads to know that was only natural. I'd just tuned those thoughts out, powered through, kept myself busy and moved on with my life. That's what Southern women did. Gran would have tanned my hide if I didn't hold my head up high, if I let myself go to pieces over a man.

I'd hardly thought of him at all once I'd stopped seeing Pam. Heck, Bill crossed my mind more often these past two years because I actually saw him now and then.

And I was damn sure I wasn't carrying a torch for Eric now. Where Sam got that idea I didn't know. I reckoned he was simply projecting his own guilt about that goddamn kiss.

I made myself some comfort food – grilled cheese and soup. Enjoyed it too. My conscience was clear.

Even so, I slept badly again that Sunday night, tossing and turning.

I wasn’t unsettled by the prospect of those gory nightmares returning, the ones that might be misconstrued as disloyal to my husband. Not at all. Anyway those were just fallout from Saturday night’s drama, an inescapable consequence of the usual supe violence. Didn’t mean anything else.

I told myself I was on edge listening out for Sam in case he took it into his head to drive home drunk in the middle of the night.

…

The alarm woke me at eight. Ugh. Mondays. I did my business, washed, slipped on my robe and some warm slippers, and headed for the coffee, yawning on the way.

I rounded the corner and stopped, startled. Sam was sitting at the kitchen table.

Then I took in my purse sitting next to him, its contents scattered on the table and my phone in front of him. What the eff? He was going through my things, my phone? Hands on my hips I was about to dispense a tongue lashing fit to blister paint when he looked up.

His eyes were full of tears, and he asked in a broken voice, “When did you write these?”

He lifted his hand slightly and drew my attention to two crumpled sheets of note paper. He'd smoothed them out to read them: the lists that had been lying forgotten in the bottom of my purse since the kidnapping on Friday.

“Oh Sam,” I breathed softly. He looked so lost. I cleared my throat, and answered him. “Thanksgiving. I did a whole mess of thinking that day.”

That eased his troubled look some; he was relieved I hadn’t been carrying them around for months. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

I said gently, “You look like you could do with some coffee. Why don't I put some on, and we can talk?”

He just nodded, looking down at the lists. I kept quiet until the coffee was brewed, and then sat down opposite him sliding him his cup.

After we'd both drunk some, I nodded to the scattered pile of tissues, an emergency lipstick, some mascara, my compact, and a couple of tampons. Keeping my tone friendly I asked, “Did you find anything?”

He flinched. “No. You don’t even have his number in your phone.”

“Why would I Sam? I haven’t seen him for three years. I had no idea he was even back in the state.”

He couldn’t meet my eyes. He swallowed a few times. “I don’t know what came over me Sook.”

I waited for more. He shifted uncomfortably in the silence, and finally elaborated.

“I really wanted you to come home– I mean, back to Wright with me, Sook. I was frustrated, and scared for you. You were real down on yourself and… I just got so angry I took off. It’s been a real tough week without you. So many times I wanted to drive back, but mom and Mindy kept telling me you wouldn’t respect me, I should stand my ground…”

It was my turn to flinch. Yeah, I’ll just bet Bernie did everything she could to keep him away. Probably liquored him up and sent him to that damn bar too.

He grimaced. “I shouldn’t have listened to them. I felt worse and worse all week. Then Calvin called and I was out of there like a shot. I was thinking the worst driving back, praying I’d have a chance to make up for being so shitty to you. The last thing I expected when I got here was a horde of vampires and … his blood in you.” He was suddenly very wary, picking his words carefully. “You know that’s a blood offence, right?”

I snorted. “I’m not part of that world and I don’t follow their screwed up rules. It didn’t ‘offend’ me. I’d rather be alive, thank you very much. Did you watch the video?”

He nodded, his eyes wet again. He clasped my hand across the table. “I could have lost you, Cher.”

I blinked back my own tears. “But you didn’t. And Eric … well, he doesn’t give blood lightly. Seems like he needs every drop for himself right now too. So I’m real grateful. You shouldn’t have rescinded their invitations, Sam. Thalia isn’t an enemy you want to make.”

He disagreed, but he kept quiet.

I sighed and squeezed his hand. “Why don’t we put the last week down to stress and start with a clean slate?” I was trying to be gracious, even if that meant forgetting the skank. For now.

“Okay.”

I held my hand out for my lists. “May I?”

He passed them over and I put the rough one aside, glad that it didn’t include more details. I’d never meant for him to read it. “That’s just jottings. This is my action plan. I did a lot of thinking about us, Sam. Things can’t go on the way they’ve been this last year.”

“I didn’t know you were so unhappy with things. I thought it was just the miscarriages, Cher.”

“Uh-huh.” I didn’t feel like getting into that one. Kennedy had noticed, surely Sam, who was supposed to be closest to me, had suspected something more was wrong. I skipped over that and concentrated on what needed to be said. “So, item one is Bernie.”

“Yeah. You heard us arguing after the wedding?” I nodded. He groaned. “What else has she done?”

I sighed. “Sam, she hasn’t said anything to me directly, but she doesn’t like me or trust me. Let’s not pretend any different. She wants you to find a shifter to have babies with, right?” My voice hitched.

I felt a wave of annoyance from him, and pity. I hoped the annoyance was aimed at Bernie. He ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah. You picked that up, huh? I’ll talk to her, Sook. She needs to butt out.”

Well, that was a good start. The jury was out on how effective he’d be though. Bernie was persistent, I’d give her that. Moving on to point two, I said, “I have a call in to Dr Ludwig. I’m going to ask her to recommend a marriage counsellor.”

He fidgeted. “You really think we need…”

“Sam, the way we keep fighting something has to change. I’m not bringing a child into that atmosphere. My momma and daddy only fought but once in a while, but Lord knows that was bad enough for me to remember it to this day. Will you do this for us? For me?”

He felt reluctant, but he nodded. “Alright, Cher.”

“Okay.” I felt much better. I looked at the clock. Shoot. “Well, I guess we can both think on what we want out of life long term, and we’ll discuss that… Um, do we both have Thursday off?”

He pulled a face. “Cher, I’ve got to work all week, make up for taking last week off. If I switch some shifts, we could make it next Monday?”

I was disappointed, but the bar didn’t run itself. “Okay, Sam Merlotte, you got yourself a deal.”

He tried to smile. “Seal it with a kiss?”

Ugh. The skank. He picked up on my disgust, leant slowly across and kissed me on the cheek gently.

…

After a quiet breakfast during which Sam caught me up on family news, I went to shower while he cleared up. I picked out one of my favourite outfits. Smart black jeans with a flattering cut, and a soft blue sweater that matched my eyes. I repacked my purse while Sam dried dishes, carefully putting those lists into an inner pocket while his back was turned. I hadn’t addressed his invasion of my privacy, but he better believe I wouldn’t stand for it becoming a regular thing.

I was at Merlotte’s just before ten. I gave the place a quick once over, checking everything was where it should be and we had enough aprons. I was on early; Sam would be in at four. I’d left him at home catching up on his laundry from Wright.

We had a system. Usually we both got two weekdays off, one together and one solo while the other covered the whole day. That gave us some space – living _and_ working together we needed that. The other weekdays I worked ten until six, and Sam worked four till finish. He didn’t like me locking up late at night now I didn’t need the evening tips. On Saturday, we both covered the full shift. Sundays we were only open from lunch to early evening. If it was quiet, one or both of us would take off, or sometimes Sam would watch a game in his trailer with some friends, close enough if there was a problem.

Mondays were quiet so I usually caught up on bookwork. Terry arrived, giving me a nod and a shy smile, before he gave me the run down on last week’s business. He was on a much more even keel these days, and I heard good things about his dog breeding business. I didn’t know if he’d ever marry his lady friend, but he seemed happy enough.

I left him to deal with the waitresses, and retreated to the office. It was a bit cramped for two, but the feminine touches I’d added – a vase of silk flowers, new curtains and a lick of paint – all helped to brighten the room.

I was lost in a sea of numbers, reconciling the figures with the receipts, when a knock broke my concentration.

Michele stuck her head round the door and smiled when she saw me. “Hi Sookie, you got time for lunch with us today? It’s pretty quiet out there.”

She came in, Jason Junior in tow holding tightly to her hand and grinning once he saw me. He had tousled blonde hair, bright blue eyes, adorable dimples and a knack for getting in trouble. Yeah, that apple didn’t fall far.

“Sure, I should take a break before I start seeing double.”

Junior toddled over and tried to climb up onto my lap. “Soogie. Up. Up.”

I laughed and stood, swinging him up onto my hip. “C’mon trouble. Let’s get you some lunch.”

I got them settled in one of the back booths, Junior strapped securely into a high-chair. I chatted to Terry at the hatch while I waited for our order, waving back at my nephew now and then. Michele had some of his little cars to keep him busy. Penny, a quiet single mom from Minden who’d moved into a duplex last year, helped me carry our food over. She tousled Junior’s hair and grinned at him before she left.

We traded a few pleasantries and began to eat. Once Junior was literally stuffing his mouth with fries, Michele shook her head at him fondly and looked at me. “I wonder if the next one will have better table manners.”

Oh.

I’d known they were planning another soon. I started to congratulate her, trying to sound enthusiastic as envy and guilty for it flooded through me, but she reached across to pat my hand, whispering, “Shush. Listen in, it’s OK.”

I smiled nervously and went ahead. She didn’t want the whole of Merlotte’s to hear; it was too early to tell anyone. Her doctor only just confirmed it this morning, Jason didn’t even know yet. She’d wanted to tell me first so I didn’t read it from her or Jason without any warning. One of her childhood friends had gone through worse than me, years of miscarriages and rounds of IVF with no success. She understood how tough it was for me surrounded by mothers.

I teared up, and whispered hoarsely, “Thank you, Michele. I really appreciate you thinking of me.” I squeezed her hand and smiled crookedly.

She squeezed back, and unwittingly gave me more.

Jason had come home from Merlotte’s last night and woken her up. He’d been upset that, along with half the bar, he’d heard Sam and me yelling at each other. Her thoughts were coloured by sympathy, and regret. Before she pulled away I saw a stranger, a man with dark hair and eyes, and an ugly look on his face.

I took a big mouthful of burger and concentrated on my plate. She busied herself for a moment cleaning Junior up. Once he was happily vroom-vrooming his cars again, and Penny had refilled our cups and gone, Michele decided no-one was eavesdropping and it was time to talk to me. I braced myself as she started to speak.

“I know you and Sam are having some… issues, Sookie.” I opened my mouth to deny it, but she waved me quiet. “Let me say my piece, girl. I see you together enough, and I’m not blind. The cracks are showing.”

She paused. “You’re too hard on yourself. Most women are, but making a mistake ain’t anything to be ashamed of. It’s how you set it right that matters.” She was thinking about dark and ugly again. I realised with a jolt that he must be her first husband.

“Lots of people make their bed before they’re old enough or wise enough.” _Like me, married way too young,_ I heard. Her eyes filled with pain from her past, and I was careful not to pry into her memories.

“Or they settle for what’s right in front of them, what’s comfortable, and make do with it.” _Heaven knows what Tara, smart as a whip that one, is doing with JB. He’s a good dad, but what in_ _tarnation_ _do they talk about? Jason is no genius, but he’s got some brains. He just needs a push here and there._

I answered her thought. “He’s got you for that.”

She twitched in surprise, then grinned at me. “Yep, that boy needs a firm hand, but he’s sure coming along nicely now.”

He was too – he’d had a promotion at work and he’d started some college courses aiming for another. They were really good together, brought the best out in each other. Michele had really blossomed as a wife and mother, losing that edge of hardness and bitterness she’d had. She was still a plain-speaking, no-nonsense woman though.

“What I’m laying down Sookie, is that it’s okay to cut your losses. Better to make a clean break when things aren’t right. Don’t waste your precious time waiting for things to get better, feeling miserable. You deserve more’n a year or two of happiness before things get ugly. It’s okay to want more for yourself.”

It was strange that her advice chimed so perfectly with Pam’s.

I sighed. “I get it Michele, it’s just… I’m not quite ready to throw in the towel, you know? I think last night cleared the air some and we had a real good talk this morning.” I leant forward, fiddling with my napkin, and said quietly, “We’re going to find a marriage counsellor.”

She looked away for a moment. “That’s great. It was your idea?”

“Uh-huh.”

 _I bet, and I bet he’s not jumping for joy. I don’t want rain on her parade_ … She thought of several friends who’d tried therapy and still wound up divorced. My stomach clenched.

She frowned and suggested, “Set a time limit. Six months maybe. Don’t let it drag on while he half-asses making an effort.”

Sam wouldn’t do that, he was committed to working things out. I jumped to defend him. “Sam hasn’t done anything wrong, he’s a good man.”

“Yeah, I know. But that don’t make him the right man. It just makes it harder to let him go when you should.”

After a moment or two, she asked how Penny was working out, and it was clear we were done with the uncomfortable topic.

…

I stayed on in the bar after Michele left, helping with the lunch rush.

Apparently the Bon Temps gossips didn’t take Sunday as day of rest from making phone calls, so Sam and I were the Monday topic du jour. A few too many female customers wondered if Sam would be single soon, but mostly people wondered what Sam and I were fighting about. Theories ranged from the ridiculous – he’d brought fleas home, really? – to the embarrassingly wild. One of us, opinion was evenly split on which one, was having an affair with Kennedy. Because she looked real uncomfortable while we were yelling.

That one was the last straw. I went back to the office in disgust and hit the books again, but my concentration was shot.

I stared blankly at the phone, chewing over Michele’s words.

That was a hard truth to hear about my marriage: the cracks were showing, she said.

I looked over at Sam’s empty chair. More of Michele’s words came back to me: _settle for what’s right in front of them, what’s comfortable…_

Had I done that with Sam? I swallowed. I had accepted his proposal not with my own enthusiasm, but swept along on the tide of everyone else’s. Was I so weak-willed I'd just gone with the flow ever since?

Tara and JB… well, I’d agree with Michele that they made little sense together, except I knew what Tara had gone through, first with Eggs and then with her vampire exes. Not that she remembered the whole maenad incident, but she’d gone to those awful orgies for Eggs. And Mickey… well, JB was better by a country mile. I couldn’t fault her for choosing him.

Life was full of tough choices. Romance didn't count for much without stability and safety. Settling for a quiet, easy life made perfect sense.

It was odd that practical, sensible Michele was warning me against just that, though.

I sighed, and looked down at the messy pile of receipts. Back to the tyranny of numbers, I guessed.

…

I struggled on until quarter to four. I stepped out into the corridor intending to take a break and check on the bar.

Calvin Norris was striding towards the office purposefully, looking like he’d come straight from a shift at the Norcross plant. He practically skidded to a halt when he saw me.

“Hi Calvin, how are you?”

He nodded, a man of few words. “Sam in?”

“Oh, not until four. Can I help at all?” That would depend on whether it was bar or Hotshot business. He looked uncomfortable, so I guessed the latter. But seeing him reminded me that he knew something about those guards.

“I’ll wait in the bar then,” he said gruffly.

“Actually Calvin, could you spare a minute?” I used my politest voice and smiled.

He cringed. Honest to goodness cringed, like a kid caught making mud pies on momma’s best china. Jason did that once, I recalled. Calvin had reacted less when… I glanced at his damaged hand before I could stop myself.

Thankfully that bunch of awkward was interrupted when a customer came out of the restroom, called a greeting to us and headed back to the bar. Calvin took advantage of the interruption and moved to leave with a curt nod, but I stopped him.

“Wait, it’s alright Calvin. Sam told me everything. I just wanted to thank you for letting him know I was hurt on Friday.”

He shifted uneasily. “No problem. You needed him home.”

“Yes, yes I did. Thank you. And you know,” I dropped to a whisper, “thanks for the guards too.” He had to have sent the ‘guy from Hotshot’ who’d called Jason.

He gave me an appraising look, as I kept my grateful smile. “Always glad to help out a friend.” He wasn’t giving anything away, so I tried something else.

I put my hand to my throat, widened my eyes. “So I’m safe now?”

“You’re plenty safe Sookie, don’t you worry your pretty little head.” There was a twinkle in his eye and a touch of amusement in his voice. He’d seen right through my act, he wasn’t a fool.

But neither was I. I’d put my hand on his arm.

I got a tumble of thoughts, and a clear snippet of Sam turning up in Hotshot yesterday, hammering on Calvin’s door, interrupting him watching the game. He was worried about Sam: something was off about him, more than the approaching full moon.

The back door opened behind me and I glanced over my shoulder, keeping contact with Calvin. Sam came in and smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes and fell away once he saw the packmaster. His mouth tightened before he spoke. “Calvin. Why don’t we do this in here?” He gestured to the office.

I got a flash of annoyance from Calvin, and then he brushed past me and followed Sam. I followed double quick, putting my hand out to stop Calvin closing the door. Calvin looked from me to Sam, who wasn’t happy with my presence.

“I’m doing the books today, so...” I waved at my desk, hoping to stay.

Sam glanced at the ledgers, neatly stacked liked I’d finished with them. Which I had. Damn. “Well, looks like you made enough head way. Why don’t you take off early now I’m here?”

A whole series of things got communicated between us without words, wife to husband, husband to wife, until he set his jaw in a way that told me he wasn’t budging.

I smiled sweetly, “Well, isn’t that nice, Calvin? Such a considerate husband.”

Calvin just grunted, looking like he’d rather eat ground glass than step on that landmine. I grabbed my purse from my side of the desk. “See you later then, honey.”

Sam came to the door and I let him kiss my cheek goodbye. He stood there watching as I left. Damn, no eavesdropping. All I got was that Sam was angry and wanted answers, and Calvin was feeling trepidation.

As I drove home, the scene replayed in the back of my mind until I saw one of Gran confronting Jason with a letter from school in her hand. Oh. Calvin was in trouble with the boss… If Sam asked Calvin to guard me while he was in Wright, he’d be mad about the kidnapping.

I felt a little touched, and then I wondered if he was paying for these guards. That had to be expensive. Was that why Sam was so cash poor? He worried about affording Dr Ludwig’s fees, and he kept on at me to invest in the bar too.

If Sam was paying, it wasn’t through the bar account or our joint account for household expenses. He kept his rental property business separate though. It was easier with all the taxes and regulations, he said. Glen, Portia’s husband, had recommended an accountant for all that. I had no idea what went on with that money.

I was still pondering that when I pulled up behind the house.

Curious, I threw my mental net out as far as I could. Nope, no guards in the woods now.

Calvin said I was safe, perhaps the threat had passed and the wards were strong enough.

…

Sam had left the house tidy. I threw together a casserole for one, and made myself a coffee.

I was sipping it and reading the local paper when I heard a car. I stood up to catch a glimpse of it as it pulled by the house: smart, new and black. It wasn’t familiar. I went to the back door, checking the shotgun was behind the heater. Just in case. I relaxed once I recognised the static hiss of a familiar mind.

Mr Cataliades was climbing gracefully out of the car when I opened the screen door on the back porch. He’d come by several times a year since I was cleared of Arlene’s murder. He’d check I was getting my fairy money, and that I was alright. I wasn’t sure if that was on Niall’s behalf or his own.

As always he was wearing a suit, and sweating even in the chilly November dusk. He brought a briefcase out of the car with him. I smiled warmly.

“Hi, Mr C. I wasn’t expecting you today. How are you?”

“Call me Desmond, my dear. I’m in good health, yourself?” He always asked me to use his first name; I always stuck to Mr C.

“Oh, I’m good. Come in, would you like a coffee or something cold?” I always asked, he always answered…

“Something cold, thank you.”

I grinned at the familiar ritual as I set to fixing him some lemonade and ice. Sitting at the kitchen table, I asked after his niece and he asked after Sam. It was all very civilised these days.

He finished his drink. “Now, I’m afraid I come on business today.”

I sat up straighter; this was new.

“I suspect you are already aware Oklahoma has met her final death.” I nodded, and he went into full-on lawyer mode.

“Good. Firstly, I am here to inform you, officially and in person, that the restrictions placed on you arising from her contract with Eric the Northman have been lifted. You may now associate freely with whomever you want, and you may travel freely to both Oklahoma and Fangtasia. I’m sure you had already concluded that was the case.”

“Yep.” I kept it short and sweet, disguising my annoyance that certain vampires believed they could limit the freedoms of an American citizen whenever they felt like it. She was lucky I’d had no desire to visit her lacklustre state.

“And secondly I have been asked to bring you this.” He retrieved a folder from his briefcase and opened it, handing me a page of heavy parchment paper. It was filled with impressive Gothic handwriting and embossed with a fancy stamp, like the ones notaries use but more ornate. I hoped it was normal paper, remembering with an internal shudder what fairies did with the skin of their defeated enemies.

I scanned it. It was written in Latin? No, maybe Spanish I thought as I read the signature: Felipe de Castro. I was immediately wary.

“What is this?”

“Nevada’s decree for your protection. His majesty wished for you to have a copy. And he wished me to impress upon you that he will continue to honour it, even though Freyda’s unfortunate demise frees him from doing so.” The corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes crinkled. Perhaps Felipe thought her death was unfortunate, but Mr C sure didn’t.

“Uh-huh. And why is he sending me this now?” I was still suspicious. Felipe didn’t do anything out of kindness.

His face was bland. “A gesture of good faith.”

I chewed that over. “He wants something from me and he’s currying my favour. What exactly?”

He kept his face neutral. “I couldn’t possibly guess.”

I snorted. “He’s hoping I’ll forget everything, and start to trust him so he can entice me to Vegas.”

“Hmm. Perhaps. Eventually. He cannot force you while this decree is in effect.”

I was relieved to hear it. Otherwise that two-faced snake would have me working in Vegas for my own ‘protection’. Lord, I hadn’t missed the Machiavellian politics of the undead for one second these last three years. I remembered what Clovache said: all vampires were twisty and deceitful.

I huffed. Well if I had to deal with their bullcrap again, I had better work out what was going on. Why was Felipe honouring my protection if it hindered his plans?

And what did this even say? Not writing it in English was clearly intended to intimidate me.

“I can’t read this. Can you tell me what it says, please?”

He nodded and ran through the clauses, explaining the legal jargon. Basically no vampire could drink from me, harm me, force me to serve them, blah, blah. Felipe could exact a penalty of his choice, up to and including final death, for infractions within his territories.

“Okay. That seems pretty standard. It doesn’t have a time limit?”

“No.”

“But he can withdraw it any time now Freyda’s gone?”

“Yes.”

So it was a gracious gesture and a threat all in one. Typical vampire. Mr C winked at me. He’d heard that.

“You don’t need to worry. I understand you had some problems in Texas a few days ago. Niall asked me to make you aware of these. The knowledge might be helpful next time you find yourself in, ahem, a tricky situation out of state.” He opened the folder and handed me more pages of parchment.

I flicked through them. Handwritten in a range of styles and languages, they all had impressive seals or stamps. It was the signatures that grabbed my attention. Stan Davis, Russell Edgington, and Bartlett Crowe I knew. There was a woman whose name I didn’t recognise who must be Queen of Iowa judging by the seal. I think she was at Rhodes, but I didn’t recall speaking to her. Kentucky, Isaiah Benjamin Gold in full apparently, I’d had more to do with but I’d only ever known his first name. There was such an unusual name on the last one that I couldn’t tell if New Mexico had a King or a Queen. I was damn sure I’d never met whoever it was either way.

I had no idea what I done to warrant official protection from any of them.

“These decrees of protection cover you against the same trespasses as the one from Nevada. They may need to be re-negotiated if a monarch is replaced, but otherwise all of these last for your lifetime.”

I was amazed – Pam had emphasised what a big deal it was when Felipe gave me his personal protection in return for saving his treacherous neck. I hadn’t done anything like that for these vampires. These – what did he call them again? These decrees were something else.

“What… Who got them to do all this?”

“That is confidential I’m afraid. Lawyer-client privilege. But you are protected in seven monarchies. That would have saved you some trouble in Texas I believe.”

So Mr C had a hand in this, and an unnamed client… I looked at them again carefully. The dates were all in June three years ago.

I didn’t think Eric had that much pull. He’d had to give Freyda another century to get this sort of protection from her and Felipe, and she was relatively new in the job. Russell had been King for a century. His protection would cost more, surely.

Niall? He was still around when these were signed. I didn’t know how much influence he had with vampires, but it was the sort of thing Niall might do, like the way he’d handled the FBI for me… Hmm. If I was right, why hadn’t Niall told me before he left?

Mr C’s expression gave nothing away.

“It sure would have been useful to know about these.”

“Yes, but they are a matter of record, so vampires in those states should be well aware of them.” He nodded at the papers. “I will keep those safe for you. Mentioning them should deter all but the most unruly troublemakers.”

“Oh. Right.” I handed them back and he tucked them away. “Say, how did you hear about Texas anyway? From Niall?”

He beamed like I was his star pupil. “Yes, we spoke yesterday. He asked me to come to you as soon as I could. I was in Oklahoma most of last week, but fortunately you are on my way home.”

“Wow, that’s a long drive. Are you going all the way back to Nola tonight? Would you like to stay for dinner?” I was already calculating how to stretch my casserole for one to feed my substantial half-demon guest, but Mr C shook his head.

“No, no, my dear. I had a big lunch, I don’t want to impose.”

“A sandwich, then? That’ll be no trouble, real quick.”

He chuckled at my determination to play gracious hostess, and held up his hands in defeat. “That would be lovely, Sookie.”

Once he was eating, I toyed with my fresh cup of coffee. I was burning with curiosity over Niall’s reappearance in my life. “So, I guess the portals are open now.”

He gave me a shrewd look. “You have seen your Great-grandfather recently, I take it.”

“Yes. He stopped by, but he was too busy to talk.”

He put his food down and sat back, clasping his hands on his stomach for a minute contemplating his reply. “My understanding is that only some portals have been re-opened. Travel to and from the realm is currently restricted. There are rumours that the Fae realm has undergone some political upheaval and the situation is much altered from that which existed when the portals were sealed.”

My mind raced. What had changed? Had my portal re-opened? Who decided who could come and go? Was I safe?

Mr C patted my hand fondly. “I believe you can breathe easy.”

“But what–”

He shook his head. “It’s not my place. I do not know all the details. You must ask Niall, I’m afraid.”

I snorted and muttered, “If I can get a straight answer out of the old coot.”

He laughed his strange gravelly laugh. “Sookie, even if Niall is his usual… obtuse self, I don’t think re-opening the portals has put you at risk. I’m sure your life here will remain undisturbed.”

Well, that was a little reassuring. I needed to feel safe in my home. “That’s great.”

Mr C smiled and resumed eating. Not wanting to stare at him while he ate, I gazed into my coffee cup. My mind wandered, then settled on a familiar daydream of life with Sam that came stuttering to a halt as snatches of our recent fights began intruding.

I sighed heavily. Would we even be living together in a year? Perhaps, as Michele feared, counselling would just delay our inevitable trip to the divorce court.

A movement broke my morose reverie. I looked up to see Mr C’s dark eyes full of avuncular concern.

“I had no idea things were… difficult between you and your husband.” His tone was kind.

I blushed furiously and stammered, “It’s not… it’s just…” I closed my eyes. Telepaths. You can’t lie to us. We see the worst secrets, the darkest fears. It sucks. From both sides.

He sighed. “Yes, sometimes it does. But if you need a lawyer–”

“Oh, we’re not at that point yet. And we have a family lawyer here in Bon Temps, there’s no need for you to get involved. I’m sure you have plenty of work to keep you in New Orleans, I wouldn’t want you to drive all the way up here.”

“Does this lawyer work for Mr Merlotte too?”

“Well, yes. He handles the legal side of the bar for us, Sam’s rental business, that sort of thing.”

“Then he cannot represent both of you. I would be honoured to represent you should it come to that. Fintan would expect it of me, and perhaps I have not done enough for you on his behalf. Besides… there may be some issues another lawyer would not understand.” He gave me a significant look.

I got that one loud and clear. Issues of a supernatural nature. I frowned. “Mr C, we got married in my church here. Under Louisiana state law. Sam might be registered as two-natured, but you know as well as I do that the law gives him the same rights as us plain ole humans in terms of everything else. Property ownership, taxes, marriage. I think a human lawyer will do.”

His eyebrows shot up when I referred to myself as human. That had come up a few times during his check-on-Sookie visits. He damn well knew by now that I refused to accept that being one eighth fairy had any significant bearing on my life or what I called myself, even if that eighth was royal sky-blue blood. I stuck my chin out at him defiantly. Yeah, read that from my mind and smoke it, buster.

His eyes flashed, and he looked angry for a split second. I wasn’t really afraid, but I had a moment’s pause. I didn’t really know what capabilities half-demons had.

He shook it off pretty quick. He said calmly, in his ‘lawyer’ voice, “No matter what you feel about it, the fact remains you are related to Niall. You have inheritances from fairy kin. And you may have married under human law, but that marriage is recognised by the supernatural community. Particularly by the fae and the shapeshifters. Both races have intermarried with humans for long enough to adapt their law to accommodate such marriages.”

Then taking in my stubborn look, he sighed. “Sookie, I am not your enemy here. I know you resent my gift, and I am sorry for that, but I cannot undo it. Truly, you will need a lawyer with knowledge of our world. If it gets to that point, please contact me. I will recommend someone else if you don’t want me to represent you. It will be in your best interest.”

He allowed me to feel his sincerity. Reluctantly, I nodded.

“Thank you. Now I think perhaps I should be going. Unless you have any more questions?”

I thought for a minute. Only one. I’d already been bad mannered enough to annoy a guest, so what the heck. “Do you know anything about these guards I’m supposed to have? Everybody else seems to know about them.”

“Ah. I am not involved in that. Diantha has been called upon to help out on a few occasions.”

I frowned. I hadn’t seen Diantha in a coon’s age. When had she been here? She didn’t exactly blend in. And did Sam even know her well enough to ask her to guard me?

“I believe if you want to know more, you should to speak to the sheriff.”

For a split second I thought of Andy, who’d become town Sheriff two years ago when Bud retired. Then I realised he meant Pam.

“Oh. Right.” Yes, she did seem to be in charge when Niall was asking. But then she’d flicked her eyes at Sam…

I realised he was standing, waiting to leave. “Oh, I’m sorry for keeping you when you want to get on the road.” I got up and saw him out of the house, wishing him a safe journey.

Once he’d left, I peered out into the dusk. It was unsettling not knowing whether these mysterious guards were out there or not.

Nope, no-one out there I could see, or feel.

…

I pottered around until my casserole was ready. I ate slowly, flicking through a gossip magazine one of the waitresses had got me hooked on. Trashy but harmless, it was a guilty pleasure.

While I was washing dishes, bits and pieces of the day came back to me. Michele had given me heartfelt advice that a good man wasn’t always the right one. Sam was upset this morning, agreeing to my plan, but he’d been a suspicious jerk going through my purse like that. That wasn’t like him.

Calvin thought Sam was acting off too. That gave me pause.

Sam really wanted me out of the way while he talked to Calvin. Yesterday I’d told Sam I was sick of him hiding things, but he was still doing it. I realised that although he’d grudgingly admitted he knew about these guards, he hadn’t actually told me anything about them.

I peered out of the kitchen window irritably, wondering if I was being watched. I wanted to know, dammit.

Mr Cataliades had dumped a whole mess of new information on me. I wasn’t sure what should be my biggest concern: mysterious fae politics, strange protection decrees from vampire royalty, or Diantha guarding me.

Niall would speak to me when he was good and ready, I couldn’t do a thing about that. But when he turned up, I could ask about the portal in my woods.

The vamp protection seemed to be a good thing, according to Mr C, except for Felipe trying to worm his way into my good books.

And it looked like Sam wasn’t going to give me any answers about Diantha or any other guards any time soon…

But Pam might.

I looked at the clock. Almost seven. Plenty of time before Sam got home. If he wasn’t going to come clean, I’d talk to my undead bestie. She would tell me what was what – I could count on Pam.

I texted her: **Pam, need to speak. Meet in Monroe @ 9?**

It took a few minutes for the reply to come back: **Not tonight. Stuck @ Fangtasia. Bloody paperwork. 2moro?**

I texted back: **OK arrange l8r.**

I frowned. Did she know what I wanted to ask? Was she avoiding me?

Just as I was building up a head of frustration over not getting any answers again… Bingo. I smiled to myself. What was the first thing Mr C said today?

I was free to go to Fangtasia.

I would drive over there, surprise Pam, catch her off-guard and she would spill the beans, tell me everything.

I _was_ her favourite breather after all.


	14. Revelations

Fangtasia was closed on Mondays. The parking lot out front was deserted when I pulled up just after eight.

As I locked my car, I took in the extended well-lit parking area and the classy new sign. Flowing lettering in brushed steel gleamed bloodily under a hooded red strip light. Impressive. I’d heard the place was doing well.

I shivered with the drop in temperature outside the car, hugging my coat closed. I’d taken a few brisk steps towards the entrance when a figure dropped silently down from the roof to land cat-like in front of me. Startled, I yelped.

Thalia straightened up, her eyes cold, waiting for me to speak. She’d accessorised her ninja chic outfit by adding a sword tonight.

I squared my shoulders and straightened too, ignoring the cold as my coat fell open. At least I was taller, even if she could take my head off in a heartbeat – and she could hear exactly how fast mine was hammering after her scare tactic.

“I’m here to see the Sheriff,” I said confidently.

“Bag,” she said curtly, thrusting out her hand.

“What? Why–”

“Weapons search.” She was terse.

I fumed silently for a minute. This was completely unnecessary, I wouldn’t hurt Pam. She was pissed Sam had gotten one over her on Saturday… Rescinding their invitations had been plain mean and I was mad at Sam for that too, but Thalia clearly didn’t get the whole ‘two wrongs don’t make it right’ concept.

I swallowed my indignation, deciding that I, at least, wasn’t going to act like a petty child.

“Fine,” I said. She looked through my purse and patted me down thoroughly. Once she was satisfied she blurred to the door. She swished a key card through a slot and stabbed a code into a keypad. Security had definitely improved.

She pushed the smoked glass door open and held out my purse when I reached her.

“Thank you,” I said automatically as I took it and walked in.

“Sheriff’s office is out back,” she said as the door closed behind me with a quiet click.

Guess the _dangerous_ human could be trusted on her own.

I looked round curiously. This was a waiting area with plush red bench seats along the walls, potted plants, and subdued lighting. A podium, with a rope barrier tidied out of the way next to it, guarded an open archway leading to the main room. Guess it got real busy some nights. I could see the lights were on inside through the archway.

I stepped into the main room, and whistled quietly, turning to take it all in. It had been tastefully refurbished in a modern style: plenty of glass and brushed steel combined with red, black and grey décor. The whole place had been extended into the next building over to double the floor area.

In front of me, where the old space had been, there was now a large area of low steel and glass tables, each nestled in its own circle of comfortable red leather couches and chairs, the groupings interspersed with tall potted plants to give some sense of privacy. On the far left, where the old bar had been, there was a coat check area and two dark archways signed ‘ladies’ and ‘gentlemen’. The back corner held a merchandising display complete with counter and register.

A large dance area took up the new space to my right. The dance floor was tiled in black and grey. Easy to clean. Scattered around it were small red lacquered tables, high ones the right height to stand at – no chairs. Past that, to the far right, there was a stage, set up for bands by the look of it. Behind the dance floor a long gleaming steel bar ran over half the length of the back wall. A stack of trays sat on the end of the bar nearest the seating area. They still had waitress service.

Definitely an exclusive nightclub vibe though.

Amongst the discrete no biting, no smoking signs, I picked out posters for a burlesque night, ladies only nights, and half-price cocktail hours. Wow. The tone of the place had really changed. Pam’s influence, I reckoned.

As I skirted the dance floor, I glanced at the liquor behind the bar with the practised eye of a bar manager. Yep, more cocktails and spirits, fewer brands of beer. Upmarket customers. Expensive stock too: business must be booming.

I made for the door near the end of the bar marked ‘Private, Staff Only.’

It led to a short, dimly-lit corridor. Two doors, one each side, were helpfully labelled staff room, and employee dressing room. At the end of the corridor I had a choice. To the right, a longer unlit corridor ran past several unmarked doors. I’d seen a door behind the bar that would lead back there, stock rooms maybe.

To the left, light split down a shorter corridor. I headed that way and found it opened into an empty waiting area with a reception desk and an external door: the back entrance. The only other door was marked with a large painted-on silver star. I smiled. So Pam.

Two lights, one red, one green, were mounted over the door: those ones that indicate whether to enter or not, for important people too busy to be disturbed. My high school principal had them.

Both lights were off and the door was shut. I couldn’t hear anything but my own quiet footsteps as I approached.

Well, I figured it was okay. I knocked and breezed through the door.

My cheerful greeting of “Surprise, Pam,” died in my throat.

Eric was sprawled on a couch, an arm behind his head, hair loose, and a messy stack of papers on the coffee table next to him. He looked up sharply from the page in his hand as my feet took me all the way into the room before I could stop myself. His eyes widened in surprise as the door clunked softly closed behind me.

“Sookie, what are you–”

I gasped. He was wearing jeans and a long sleeved black t-shirt, his shoes kicked off, lying haphazardly on the floor at the end of the couch.

Bare feet. Two bare feet.

Without thinking I stepped over to him, dropped my purse on the table and reached out to touch his left foot in wonder, reassuring myself that it was real. The toes were still missing, and he flinched a little as I brushed against the sealed-over wounds, but his foot was solid and cool. Real.

He frowned at me in confusion, dropping his paper on the table. He opened his mouth to speak but I hushed him.

I stepped alongside him, looking at his hands. He stayed quiet, letting me pick up first one and then the other, touching them gently and turning them over, inspecting them minutely. One was almost whole, the other missing the fingertips from the nail beds. But both were so much better than the injuries I’d felt under those gloves.

I blinked back sudden, hot tears.

Keeping hold of his hand I tugged, and he sat up as I backed out of the narrow gap between the couch and the table. I tugged again and he followed my wordless demand, gracefully rising to his feet. I let go of his hand, and put my hands on his hips to turn him to face away from me. He didn’t resist. I tugged up the back of his shirt. The awful whip marks were better, but still visible. I ran my fingertips over them gently, as if to soothe them.

I straightened his shirt, and he turned slowly back to face me, the weight of his years heavy in his eyes. He dropped his fangs for a second, and then retracted them, understanding perfectly that I needed to see them.

I was overwhelmed by a rush of relief, as the burden I hadn’t acknowledged I was carrying suddenly lifted. I closed the short distance between us. Snaking my arms around his waist and pulling him fiercely to me, I buried my face in his chest and let the tears I’d held back during our silent exchange fall freely.

He stiffened and held himself rigid while I sniffed and spluttered against him. Just as I began to realise I had made him uncomfortable, I felt him relax by degrees until he slowly lifted his arms and wrapped them loosely around me. He gently lowered his face into my shoulder and nuzzled my loose hair, inhaling quietly.

Then we relaxed completely into the embrace and his arms tightened, holding me close.

Time stopped as we took comfort from each other.

…

“I hate stocktaking, those imbeciles managed to–” Pam’s voice cut off abruptly.

We let go of each other instantly. Eric stepped back, and I scooped my purse off the table and fumbled for a tissue. I wiped my face with my back to Pam and covered my embarrassment by stuttered out, “H-how long until…?” I waved vaguely at his foot.

“A week, ten days at most,” Eric said quietly.

I blew my nose noisily, mumbling from behind the tissue, “Good, good. That’s great.”

He cleared his papers from the coffee table. “Sit. Please.” He gestured at the couch, and moved to the pale oak desk to shuffle the messy pile with his back to me.

I stayed where I was for a second, taking in the rest of the office. Pale cream walls, pale wood floors, a brown and blue area rug, and a chocolate brown couch. Tidy shelves of neatly labelled folders and business textbooks, and a couple of pot plants. There were two plain doors behind the desk.

The room was light, airy, modern, and strangely non-threatening. Maybe Pam had reassuring human visitors in mind when she decorated.

I took off my coat and sat, finally looking at Pam. She was dressed in a deep pink silk blouse and dark brown slacks tonight. She was frowning at Eric’s back as she asked me absently, “How did you get in here?”

“Thalia let me in.”

“Of course she did,” she muttered turning to me. “I take it whatever you want to talk to me about can’t wait until tomorrow.” She looked at me expectantly, eyebrow raised.

I collected myself, thinking ruefully that I’d completely failed to catch her off guard. I’d forgotten she had decades on me. She wasn’t like Tara and Amelia. I could spring a question on them to get the truth, verbally or mentally. Not that I did that for any secrets more earth-shattering than what they really thought of my latest outfit these days.

I got straight to the point. “I need to know about those guards Niall mentioned.”

Her eyebrow twitched. “I see. And the shifter didn’t tell you?” In my peripheral vision, Eric stilled.

“No. We had … other things to talk about.” She hesitated and I added, “Please Pam. I need to know what’s going on.”

She moved to sit next to me, and searched my face. “Are you sure you want to know, my friend?”

“Yes! Of course I do. It’s my life; I have a right to know. In fact let’s start with why y’all felt I should be kept in the dark. And then how often I need these guards and who the hell they are.”

Pam sat back and considered. “Alright. I will tell you. You have been guarded for the last three years. We thought the threat from Freyda and de Castro would be minimal for the first year–”

“But they gave me their protection!”

She shrugged. “Do you trust their word enough to bet your life on it Sookie?” I closed my mouth. No, I guessed not.

“Now try not to interrupt. For that first year Karin, and occasionally Bill or Bubba, covered the nights, while Long Tooth provided a wolf to watch Bon Temps and Merlotte’s in the day. It was low key, primarily surveillance. I could also locate you by blood, and de Castro was aware of that. But I knew you needed to have a better system in place by the end of Karin’s time here. I began recruiting and training a team of guards. I was going to tell you before Karin left, but then _Bill_ told me that you were to wed the shifter.”

I shifted uncomfortably at her tone. At the time, I’d excused not telling her I was getting married, let alone inviting her, by telling myself she was doing important Sheriff things and wouldn’t care about my humdrum human life. And all along she’d been working to protect me. Ingratitude thy name is Sookie.

“I met with your fiancé to explain the situation. He was … concerned that it would distress you to know you needed guards. He impressed upon me quite insistently that you deserved a quiet life.” She paused, and looked down, flicking a speck of dust from her trousers as she carried on. “You had largely withdrawn from the supernatural world, and I accepted that that was what you wanted. Eventually, I agreed it was best to keep it from you.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know how I felt about that. I would be angry later that Sam had wanted me kept in the dark, but I didn’t like that word ‘withdrawn’.

I couldn’t deny that I’d cut off contact with Pam, justifying it the same way I had with Bill; our lives were on different paths. And I’d lost touch with Alcide. Oh, we’d spoken a few times by phone, but even that had petered out naturally sometime before I got married. I’d bumped into him in Shreveport once or twice since. The last time he’d been with his pretty wife, Cynthia, and we’d made small talk for a few minutes like casual acquaintances.

I’d thought I was carving out a new, safer, happier life for myself, not withdrawing from anything. Perhaps I had though. And who could blame me, I was a fragile human and in a few short years all that my entanglement in the supe world had brought me was trouble and strife. It was a dangerous world, one I did not belong in.

Was it wise to be involving myself with vampires again? Maybe Sam had a point: I hadn’t been injured in years and within days of reaching out to Pam I’d almost died. Even with guards I’d been kidnapped.

And yet, here I was again, the only one in the room with a heartbeat. Twice in the last few days I’d run impulsively to Pam for help, when I had plenty of alternatives. Jumping Jehoshaphat, I’d just hugged Eric, and Lord knows what ideas that would give him. Maybe I needed to step back and consider what I was getting into.

I took a deep breath, and searched for a gracious way to back out of this. “Well, I guess y’all meant well. But I really don’t see you needed to go to all that trouble for me, Pam. My life has been completely peaceful for the last three years.”

She stilled.

I narrowed my eyes at her, saying in a warning tone, “Pam, what is it? Tell me.”

“There have been some… issues. Are you certain you want to know?”

I nodded, and Eric startled me by chipping in. “I also would like to hear about these _issues_.” I glanced over to find he was facing us now, leaning back on the desk, arms crossed.

“Very well. During Karin’s time here there was only one overt attack, in April. Local humans from Ruston, Fellowship members. They heard you were marrying a shifter. They attempted to plant a crude nail bomb at Merlotte’s one Saturday night, and were quite surprised to run into Karin and Bill in the parking lot.” She grinned wolfishly.

I went cold. A bomb. Merlotte’s. My friends. Sam’s business. What it would have done to Bon Temps. “Oh my God. Sam must have been so angry.”

“Ah. The shifter is unaware of that incident.”

I glared. “You didn’t tell him? It’s his bar.”

She shrugged. “We were guarding you, not him. You were not married at that point.”

“What effing difference does that make?”

“It makes a difference.” She sighed. “I may have understated how badly the shifter reacted when I first spoke to him and he learnt that it wasn’t just Karin guarding you. He accused me of spying on you, trying to influence you, even preparing to kidnap you. He was refusing my calls at the time of that attack. The bomb was crude, the humans were idiots, and they were acting alone. No need to tell him, agitate him further.”

That sounded plausible… Sam had become a little possessive once we’d got engaged. Touchy about me talking to Bill, or Alcide. I’d forgotten that. He’d relaxed once we were married. Well, until things went downhill and Quinn showed up.

“And the other incidents?” Eric prompted her.

“There have been four other acts of aggression, not counting the kidnap four days ago.”

“Four!” So much for my quiet life. “When? Who? What the hell has been going on?”

Pam grimly ticked then off on her fingers as she spoke. “One a few months after Karin left. A professional hitman: a human sniper, expensive, untraceable. We think Freyda or de Castro were feeling things out, looking for chinks in our security.

“Two last year. In July, Cataliades got wind that some of Breandan’s faction, left behind when the portals closed, had disappeared from Europe heading this way. Diantha staked out your house for a fortnight, waiting for them. Thalia was most annoyed when Diantha caught the first one, scouting during the day. Well… until we tracked down the rest of them.” She grinned fangily, and licked her lips.

“In November last year, a group of Weres headed by a cousin of the bitch who stirred up the Pack War came looking for revenge, against you and Alcide both. Four of them were caught preparing to snatch you.

“The fourth and most serious attempt was this year, the Fellowship again, or more accurately the Chosen. It was a much better organised group, ex-military, targeting you and Sam as a known mixed couple. We were lucky they came at night.”

“When?” I asked bleakly, seeing news pictures of child-sized body bags outside a burnt-out house, the Were family killed in Houston the previous spring.

“February.”

I gasped. I was pregnant. Just barely, but the thought of what could have happened… I was in a cold sweat. It was unthinkable. “And Sam knows about all that?”

She nodded. How could Sam have kept that from me while we were trying for a child?

“Anything else?” Eric asked.

“The day-shift intervened on one other occasion this spring, but no, those are the only attacks.”

One other occasion… Easter. The miscarriage. Almost bleeding out. Sam’s sheepish face at the hospital… He hadn’t forgotten something and come back. I was being watched and someone had called him back.

Something jangled at the back of my mind.

Someone watching me at Merlotte’s… Diantha… a fortnight… attacks…

“Wait, wait a minute. All these attacks… you knew when they were coming? You knew to put guards in place?”

Pam frowned. “They’re always in place; I thought I made that clear.”

“But… where? They’re not outside the house, or Merlotte’s. I would have sensed them.”

Although, I had to admit I’d gotten complacent about checking the woods at night and the people round me in the day. Why was that? Oh yeah: _I’d known I was safe, things were quiet_ , I thought sarcastically. Five, no, six attacks counting Lattesta, over three years. Some quiet life that was. Sheesh.

Pam got up and retrieved something from her desk. When she retook her seat she slipped it over her head. It was a necklace with a gold pendant, a bit showy for Pam’s taste. I’d seen something similar, but I couldn’t place where…

Pam twisted the pendant somehow, and it clicked. She looked at me expectantly.

“What… Holy Cow!”

Her mind, the void I detected from all vampires, had winked out like a popped bubble. I moved my head from side to side, probing for it. Nothing. I couldn’t detect her at all. “What… Where did you get that? What the hell is it?”

“From a witch, a powerful one. I needed a way to satisfy your husband’s demand for secrecy. I got the idea from Stan Davis; we were discussing how the Fellowship shielded their thoughts from you and Barry in Rhodes. Once I realised it was possible, I found a trustworthy witch powerful enough, and paid her to develop these. All your guards have one.”

I tried again. My extra sense slipped right past her, couldn't lock on to her. It reminded me of the magic outside Club Dead, or around Hallow's hideout. It was deflecting my telepathy.

It was beyond unsettling to see Pam in front of me, and not feel her mental presence. Let alone imagine a team of undetectable guards in my woods …

“Hold on. What happens if someone else gets hold of one? I’d be a sitting duck. I can’t believe you’d be so careless–”

“They are activated with blood, which ties them to that individual. They won’t work for anyone else.” Oh. Pam had thought of that.

I still wasn’t comfortable with it. I was pushing my mind at her every few seconds, the way my tongue would be drawn to explore a chipped tooth over and over. It was throwing me off. “Turn it off, please.”

She shrugged, and turned part of it. With the click, her void bubbled into my awareness again. I relaxed.

I rubbed my forehead, smoothing the tension away. I could hardly believe all this had been going on around me and I hadn’t suspected a thing. If I hadn’t been kidnapped, if I had gone with Sam to Wright last week, I’d still be in the dark.

Wait one hot minute. Wright.

“Pam, what about when I travel? When we go to Sam’s family in Texas?”

She shrugged. “The guards follow. It’s no trouble keeping track of you in Louisiana. Normally going into another state would be… problematic, but Texas has been very co-operative.”

“Okay.” This was all a little overwhelming. I began marshalling my questions, wishing I’d written a list. “Who guards me at night now? Is Karin still here?”

“Karin returned to her own life. She left after the first year as agreed.” Pam added softly to Eric, “She was a great help, especially this last six months.”

I didn’t understand that remark. “Um, did she come back?”

Pam shook her head, “No, she didn’t return to Louisiana to guard you.” She looked to Eric.

“Karin was ended in Oklahoma. In battle,” he said, his expression fiercely proud.

“Oh. Oh. Sorry to hear–”

He stiffened, and said coldly, “Do not cheapen her loss with platitudes, Sookie. You did not know her.”

I flushed. “I knew enough. Blonde, good in a fight. Just your type.”

Pam interrupted quietly, “Did you speak to her in the year she gave to guard you?”

“I… No, I didn’t see her much.” That wasn’t my fault. She stayed in the woods, what was I supposed to do? Chase a vampire down to make small talk? Bake her cookies? Besides, the few conversations we did have at first, she made it clear she was interested in Bill and vice versa. More interaction would have given her an opportunity to rub my nose in that: that two of my exes were happier with the original prototype.

Bitterness I couldn’t hold back spilt into my voice as I added, “I guess she wasn’t real happy being commanded to drop everything.”

Eric looked offended. Pam stiffened and said, “She volunteered.”

I snorted. “Yeah, right. Doesn’t mean she didn’t resent guarding a stupid breather.”

“And you know this because of the many extensive conversations you had.” Pam’s tone was deceptively light. “Eric is right; you know nothing of Karin, or our relationships.” She paused and gestured at the wall behind the desk, changing the subject. “Do you like the painting?”

I did actually. It was a garden at night, a cottage in the distance, tumbling plants sprawled over a winding path, and flowers of many sorts glowing in moonlight. Stunningly beautiful, it was a striking scene. Eric looked at it like it was an old friend.

Before I could answer Pam added, “Karin painted it for me.” Oh. Great. Sookie Mark One was way more talented than I’d ever be.

Eric stepped over to it. He ran a finger along the frame. “Better than a photograph,” he said softly. “Do you remember Pam?”

“Of course, everything you taught me there.”

He chuckled. “Even if you do ignore it.” They both admired the painting in silence.

Great. Vampires reminiscing. They’d be onto the good old days when you could slaughter whole families in a minute.

I grimaced. That sounded childishly spiteful even inside my own head. I pretended I didn’t feel excluded by the stark reminder that their relationship was decades old and deeper than any I’d ever have or could hope to understand. How I had ever believed I could relate to them…

I gave them another minute, before returning matter-of-factly to my original question. “So, who guards me at night?”

Pam tore herself away from her memories. “Thalia normally. She agreed to it if I released her from her duties here. She prefers the quiet and the chance of a fight. One or two vampires assist her.”

“Bubba?” I asked hopefully.

“Ah. He is in Las Vegas.” She looked uncomfortable.

“Did Felipe force him to go? Is he okay?” It would remind him of his human life, and that did not go so well.

“No, no. He wanted to go. He’s fine. He seems to like it, they look after him well. He sings occasionally.” She smiled a little, and I wondered if she’d heard him recently.

“Okay.” I hoped the damaged vampire legend was really alright. “So who are the day guards?”

“A mixture of wolves from Long Tooth and panthers from Hotshot. Shifts of two normally, more if there is a threat. Sometimes Diantha.”

“And is that part of…” I dredged up the right phrase, “my Friend of the Pack status?”

“No. That status is why Alcide sent a wolf for the first year, and permitted his pack members to take the work after that. Calvin does the same because of his tie to your brother, and some lingering personal affection he has for you.”

“Okay.” With Calvin’s reaction to Sam this afternoon in mind, I said, “And I guess they have some obligation to Sam too. Sam has links to the packs. He lets a few of them run on our land.”

Pam raised an eyebrow, and waited. I repeated what I’d just said to myself and groaned. Of course, the guards would be all over the woods. “That was just to cover for the guards?” Pam nodded.

“So where does Sam fit into all this? Does he organise the guards? Liaise with the Packmasters?” I rushed out the questions.

Pam said drily, “I run the team. Thalia is the on-site lead at night. In the day one of the older weres is in charge, or Diantha when she’s here.”

I frowned. “But… the weres? They don’t like working for vampires. Sam got them to cooperate?”

She snorted. “It’s amazing how their distaste for our kind vanishes with the rustle of money. Sam gave his permission for the guards to be on the land, that’s all.”

Sam said I was his responsibility. Surely he was doing something…

“Oh, Sam had Amelia put up the wards.” See? Good husband. Even if he kept hiding things.

Pam pursed her lips and looked away. Oh no. I had a very bad feeling.

“Pam, just tell me the truth.” I gritted out.

“I wanted the wards improving. Amelia is very powerful, but… well, the witch she married was hardly going to jump for joy if I hired the coven. Sam suggested it should seem like his idea.”

I blinked. So Pam organised the wards. The vampires might work for her for free, but the weres… Two or more. Every day. That had to be expensive, even for Pam. Perhaps de Castro was… no, that didn’t make any sense. Shoot, I couldn’t owe her like that. I’d been a shitty friend and it wasn’t her job to look out for me.

“You’re paying for all this? Pam, I have money, I should be funding this. You shouldn’t have to.”

She frowned, and looked to Eric. I looked between them. “Spit it out, Pam.”

She waited for Eric’s slight nod, and cleared her throat. “It’s not exactly my money, although it is in my name.”

“Explain,” I snapped, sounding eerily like Eric. I didn’t care – my head was spinning with details and I just wanted a straight answer.

“There’s a trust fund.” She was checking her nails. Eric was leaning nonchalantly on the desk, inspecting the rug.

There was something neither of them wanted to tell me.

A trust fund: like the one that paid my fairy money. Niall had looked out for me before – the money, the FBI pay-off, the protection decrees – it made sense he would set up something like this too. It almost made me feel warm and fuzzy towards the old goat. Almost, if he hadn’t got me caught up in the fairy war, and let Claude escape.

“Niall set it up because he was leaving, right? The guards, the fund and getting all those vampire Kings and Queens to protect me.”

Pam was instantly alert. “How do you know about the protection decrees?”

“Mr C showed me them today.” I said smugly. Finally, one thing in all this that I wasn’t in the dark about.

“Niall,” they both said simultaneously. Pam carried on, talking to Eric like I wasn’t here. “Well, the decrees are on record, and the witch had a point about that. I take it Niall knows her?”

Okay, the conversation was over my head again and I was pissed. “Excuse me. Right here. What witch?”

“The one in Tyler. Daisy whatever.”

“Oh. Niall knows her? That’s how he heard about me being kidnapped?” She nodded. Shit. How had Daisy known I was related to Niall? Did every supe in the South know who I was? Maybe there was a super-secret fairy message board full of gossip about me. I groaned, and shook my head free of those questions. Stick to the guards, Sookie.

“So Niall set this all up, left you to manage the trust fund–”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Pam. Will. You. Just. Tell. Me.” I ground out. Again she waited for Eric’s say so, and I could have screamed.

“The fund draws from area businesses held in my name. Fangtasia, a dry cleaning business, a video rental store.”

I glared. I could tell she was still delaying, edging around some big secret.

Eric finally stepped in. “I set it up. Set up the fund. Transferred the businesses to Pam. The decrees were my idea, as insurance against Freyda and Felipe. Cataliades traded on the favours you earned at Rhodes to arrange them. You have your own courage to thank for them.”

I blinked. What? Eric did all that… “Why would you do that? And how did you get that past Freyda?”

He shrugged. “Pam bought the businesses from me with money from a hidden account Freyda didn’t know about. The fund is in Pam’s name and Freyda couldn’t touch it.”

That bitch would have tried though, she almost didn’t let him put up my bail money.

And that sparked an unpleasant association… I noticed grimly that he hadn’t answered my first question.

“Why Eric? Why the hell did you do all that?” I spat out, getting to my feet and stepping towards him.

He closed off his expression, smoothed his face blank. “You know why.”

My hands on my hips, it felt good to yell at him, release some frustration. “No, no I don’t! Unless it’s for the same reason you gave Sam that bail money. So you could control my life. Stop me from being happy. That’s what you wanted wasn’t it? When you tried to stop Sam from courting me.”

That had always stuck in my craw. He didn’t move a muscle and the lack of a reaction enraged me. I ran with it. High-handed bastard thought he could dictate my life after he’d walked out of it. “I should have listened to Quinn. You tried to keep everyone away from me, even after you left. You wanted me all alone. I bet everything Sam suspected is true. Shit, I bet you _were_ using Karin to spy on me.”

I rounded on Pam. “How often do you report to him? Do you tell him what I have for dinner, what I’m wearing?”

Pam recoiled like I’d slapped her.

“Enough!” Eric roared.

I froze; my back to him. He waited until the ringing echoes died away, and spoke in a voice hot with supressed rage. “Did you forget I was banned from contact with my children? In three years Pam and I spoke only once. You did not rate more than a few seconds of that conversation. I left believing Pam had a friend in you, no matter what had happened between us. She remains a truer friend than you know, despite the way you treated her. She kept you alive for the last three years.” He snorted. “That is a thankless task. Apologise. Now.”

I flushed with shame as he spoke, hunching my shoulders against the sting of his words. He was right; I’d turned my back on her. And I’d lashed out at her in a fit of temper.

I swallowed. “I’m sorry Pam. That was uncalled for.”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the coffee table. I wished she would look up. She said quietly, “I would never betray your confidence like that Sookie.”

“No, of course you wouldn’t.” I supressed the urge to add: unless your maker commanded it. “I’m sorry I let my temper get the best of me.”

“Accepted.” I could still feel Eric’s glower on my back as I stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, wondering whether I’d outstayed my welcome.

After a minute or so, the tension began to dissipate and Pam gestured for me to re-join her on the couch.

“Now that you know about the guards, how involved do you want to be?”

I rubbed my forehead, and slumped against the cushions. “I don’t know.”

How would that work now Eric was back in town?

I winced. I’d promised myself I’d make it up to Pam, but I’d been thinking in terms of late night shopping or socialising, not sitting in her office discussing guards. This felt way too much like being sucked back into that dangerous world. I could see a string of faces telling me it was lunacy to get involved again and I was better off out of it: Tara, Catfish, Bud, Hoyt, Amelia…

Sam. Oh Lord, he’d never accept me meeting up with them to chat about guards.

I could understand why he’d been upset about Eric providing protection for me. That should be Sam’s job, but he’d obviously swallowed his pride for me, put my safety first. Besides, I only needed protecting because of the damn vampires in the first place.

I was grateful Pam was waiting while I thought things through. Vampires were good on patience.

I sighed. My money was on Freyda hiring that hit-man barely a year after agreeing to protect me. She was younger, more impatient than Felipe.

It was a shock to hear there were still fae after me though. And Weres from the Pack Wars, twoeys seemed to hold onto grudges. And we’d been targeted because Sam was a known shifter. Twice.

I realised with a sinking feeling that only one attack was directly down to vampires.

Although I only came to Lattesta’s attention because of Rhodes, so perhaps that counted against them too. I had a sudden memory of Claudine warning me against going. I’d been such a stubborn fool…

Then again, Mr C thought the decrees were sufficient to put most vampires off. Maybe I would have gotten unwelcome attention from more vamps without them.

And then Eric was shouldering the cost of sheltering me from all-comers. I didn’t know what to make of that.

He was relaxed against the desk again, looking at Karin’s painting. Serious.

I was going round in circles. I rubbed my face, realising I was getting nowhere fast. “Can I think it over and get back to you Pam?”

“Of course. We’ll keep the status quo for now.”

I stifled a yawn, and then heard… whistling from the corridor. Huh? Eric was already frowning at the door, and Pam tensed next to me.

“Are you expecting someone?” I asked as the door opened.

…

Well. She certainly had presence.

A tall, lithe redhead breezed into the room like she owned it. She was dressed for the beach: flip flops, a gorgeous green silk cover-up over a patterned bikini, and a large sunhat in her hand. I could smell suntan oil and the sea thanks to my V-enhanced nose. She was stuffing sunglasses into a large turquoise beach bag as she smiled at Eric.

“How’s the patient tonight?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why are you here?”

“Oh, didn’t Ludwig call? Check-up. All part of the service.”

“Is that so?” Eric inhaled obviously. “A beach and a night club. Spices. Mexico. Cancun?”

She laughed. “Yes, I love it there. Beautiful beaches, beautiful people.” I felt every inch a small town girl who’d never been out of the country.

She dropped her hat and bag on the desk and stepped right into Eric’s personal space. He didn’t react. My eyes widened. She seemed awful… familiar with him. She didn’t hesitate to look over his hands, prodding the injuries. His jaw tensed, but he allowed it. She glanced down at his foot and gave a satisfied nod.

“You ate well tonight?”

“Yes. Pam arranged donors.”

“How much, if that’s not a rude question?”

“About five pints.”

She whistled. “That’s more than normal right?” He nodded.

Huh. She didn’t seem to know much about vampires. It wasn’t like Ludwig to send someone ill-prepared. And it was unprofessional to arrive straight from enjoying herself in a club. I didn’t trust her.

She twirled a finger and he looked at her. “C’mon Northman I don’t have all night.” He scowled and turned around. She pulled up his shirt and manoeuvred the desk lamp. The whip scars glittered in its harsh light.

“Hmm. The silver was cursed?” He grunted. “I have something that might help. You can’t be too careful with curses.”

As she scrabbled around in her bag, I checked her out mentally and got a shock.

Her mind was different than anything I’d met. It was slippery, I couldn’t get a fix on it, and it seemed to vibrate even though she was still. What the heck was she?

“Ah, here it is.” She pulled out a tube. “Now, usual caveat, this might not work on you but it’s worth a shot. Guess you won’t care if it’s cold, huh?”

She proceeded to squirt out a little and rubbed it into his scars. “It should feel…”

“Warm. Yes, I feel that. This hasn’t been used on vampire?” He turned back around tugging his shirt down.

“Er, not until just now.” Pam growled, and the stranger raised her hands apologetically as she turned to us. “Hey, it’s just herbs. It’s perfectly safe.”

Pam snorted. “It better be fairy.”

Fairy? She wasn’t what they thought she was. At least, her mind wasn’t like the mind of any fairy I’d met.

She chuckled at Pam. “Your tongue is working better tonight.”

Pam grinned wickedly, “I can give you a demonstration.”

“Oh, but you already have someone to practise on.” She winked at me, and I frowned back.

Pam grinned even more broadly. “Oh, she’s not my type.”

“She isn’t?” She suddenly turned to look at Eric. “Oh. Oh, this is… Oh.” She bumped him with her shoulder. “Well, introduce us.”

Eric looked like he’d rather eat dirt. In clipped tones he said, “Sookie, this is the healer Niall sent.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped forward holding out her hand. “Hi, I’m Rory, Rory Kingfisher. Sorry to barge in. I’m a little excited about my first proper vampire patient.” She gave me a dazzling smile that reminded me of Claudine.

“Hi, Sookie St– Sookie Merlotte”, I took her hand hoping for a better read, but all I got was a brief uncomfortable resistance as our hands met, like pushing two magnets together the wrong way. What the hell was she?

She dropped my hand quickly and said, “Oh, you’re a Brigant.” Her eyes widened, and she turned back to Eric. “I think I can guess why Niall owed you.”

Eric pursed his lips. Definitely not happy.

She turned back to me with a grin that slowly faded. “Did you know she is joined to another?” She seemed to be talking to Eric, but she hadn’t taken her eyes off me.

I stiffened. “I’m married, if that’s what you mean.”

She shook her head, and swept forward to sit gracefully on the coffee table in front of me, clasping my wrists before I could object.

She was uncomfortably close. I could count her eyelashes as she stared at my chest. Now, granted, plenty of men and the occasional woman were mesmerised by the girls, but this was something else. She was focused on something I couldn’t see, her eyes glazing over.

“What _is_ that? I’ve never seen … strong … very strong, deep roots, buried in you.” That did not sound good. Was it Eric’s blood? Before I could ask, she continued.

“Fae. Old magic, tying his fate to yours. A join.” She let go of one of my wrists and traced something invisible in the air between us. “It is pulling on him. He yearns for you, craves you. And you fight it, struggle against it.”

She dropped my hand suddenly and sucked in a huge breath as if she’d just come up for air. She stood abruptly and moved away from me, as if I was contagious. She looked shaken. “Who did this to you?”

Eric moved a little behind her. She turned to him. “You know. Was this Brigant’s doing?”

He shook his head, and said tensely, “She used a Cluviel Dor. Could it be that?”

She exclaimed in a foreign tongue and turned back to me with suspicion in her eyes. “Where did you get such a rarity child?”

I bristled. “I’m not a child. I inherited it. It was a gift to my grandmother from my grandfather.”

“And you used it?”

“I… My husband was injured. Seriously. I used it on him.”

“Just to heal him?”

“Yeah. To bring him back.”

“He died?”

“Yes. Only for a few seconds, but yes.”

“You altered his fate. Returned his life.” She frowned thoughtfully. “For the fae, saving a life means that life is yours. It forges a tie between the two, a debt owed and responsibility taken in return. But this is more than such a bond of honour. It is a magical tie, one not to be made lightly.”

She added slowly, “Love tokens such as the one you spent are rare and powerful. They can have unexpected, unpredictable effects. I don’t understand how, or why, but it has joined you.”

Her little parlour act wasn’t gonna frighten me. I shrugged. “He’s my husband. We are kinda meant to be joined. Big deal.”

“But you are resisting it.”

I snorted. “So you say. Why would I resist being ‘joined’ to my husband?”

“Because you aren’t in love with him.”

My face flushed and I shot to my feet. “That’s enough. I don’t know who you think you are,” I shot a significant look to Pam, “or even what the hell you are, but I love my husband and he loves me. So drop the theatrics.”

She shrugged. “If you wish, but you know I’m right.”

I glared at her, ignoring the little whispers about the fights, the proposal, that damn kiss. “Like hell I do. I don’t believe a word of it. How much did you pay her for this little performance, Eric?”

She suddenly lost her cool and snapped, “Leave him out of this. No-one buys me.”

“Yeah? Just hang around long enough in that outfit.”

She barked out a laugh. “Girl, don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

She stepped quickly to me and grabbed my hand. An image blossomed forcefully behind my eyes, burning into my memory and filling my vision as the room faded.

_I saw myself, perfectly normal, sitting on the couch moments ago, but overlaid with a completely bizarre second image, like a double exposure._

_A pale golden and orange glow enveloped my torso and head. Dark, ugly veins radiated from an angry tear over my chest, where a knot of sinuous roots burrowed into me like pale worms, writhing and grasping at my insides. A thick ghostly cord grew out from the roots, stretched taut and fading away into the distance._

_Close up the cord was made of many pale strands, plaited and woven together. Dim pulses of warm red light travelled along them towards me. Instinctively I knew that was Sam’s love._

_A faint light pulsed in the other direction, from me to Sam. It wasn’t red. It was amber._


	15. Debts and Responsibilities

Rory let go of Sookie’s hand instantly. Sookie paled and slumped back onto the couch.

“What did you do to her?” I snapped at Rory as I moved round her to squat in front of Sookie. “Sookie?” She didn’t respond, staring past me with unfocused eyes.

Pam stood slowly and took a step towards Rory. “If you have damaged my friend I will drain you dry fairy.”

Rory shrugged. “She’ll be fine. You were right there. You saw me grab her hand.”

Fae: omissions and misdirection. I snarled over my shoulder at her. “What did you do to her?”

Rory rolled her eyes. “She’s a telepath, right? I felt her attempt to read me when I came in. It’s amplified by touch. I let her see what I saw – it was the only way she was going to believe me. I don’t like being called a liar.”

“And is that all?” I asked sternly.

“Yes. I swear it.” She answered seriously, and I relaxed a little, turning back to Sookie.

“Sookie, are you alright?”

She started. Then she wriggled back as far as she could, away from me. “Eric, don’t do that. I hate when you zip in front of me like that. Give a girl some space.”

That stung. “Of course.” I went back to the desk.

She eyed Rory distrustfully. “Are you some sort of shaman? You’re not a Were.”

“No, I’m not a shaman.”

Sookie chewed on her lip, scrutinising Rory thoroughly and looking distinctly unimpressed. She huffed. “I’ve had enough excitement for one evening. I’m going home.” She stood, picking up her purse and coat, and turned to Pam. “Thanks for telling me what’s been going on. I’ll call you in a few days when I’ve got my head round it all.”

Pam nodded, and pulled out her phone. “Thalia, Sookie is leaving. See her to her car, and alert her guards. Let the team know she is aware of them and they may identify themselves and speak to her if she approaches.”

Sookie swept out of the room without a backwards glance. I turned to the papers on the desk behind me rather than watch her leave.

…

I flicked through the loose pages, putting them back in order and ignoring the heavy expectant silence behind me. When I finished, I turned to find Rory relaxing on the couch. Pam was leaning against the other end of the desk, arms folded, watching Rory warily.

Rory was watching me. With concern. She pulled a face. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make things worse.”

I shrugged. “You didn’t.”

Not between me and Sookie anyway.

There was the fact that part of my attention was devoted to damping down my emotions so she couldn’t sense them, and now, additionally, I was trying desperately to keep my thoughts off what she’d told Sookie. It would not do me any good to make too much of that.

Hoping to indicate to both of them the subject was off-limits, I added pointedly, “You could always try not interfering. That usually works.”

Rory grimaced. “She needed to know. Besides, you’d better get used to it. Just think of me as a matchmaking Great Aunt or something.” She grinned weakly.

I raised an eyebrow. “Exactly how old are you?”

She was surprised by that question. “Five hundred. Give or take. And you?”

“Almost a thousand.”

“Oh. Whoops. Think of me as an annoying niece then.”

Pam looked between us in confusion. “What the fuck is she talking about Eric?”

I braced myself. “I am under … an obligation to her until she releases me.”

“What! You _thanked_ her. Are you fucking insane?” She rounded on Rory. “You can’t hold him to that; he was under duress, high on fae blood.”

“Pamela. I was perfectly lucid. Deal with it.”

“But…” She caught my expression and stopped. She eyed me to see how firm I was, and asked drily, “May I ask why?”

“She earned it. She went beyond what Niall asked.”

She frowned. “Do you even know what she is? Because Sookie has met fae before, and she didn’t know.”

“Yes.”

Pam waited for more, then glared at me when I ignored her. She hated not knowing. I smirked at her.

Rory laughed quietly at us. “If you command her she can’t reveal it, right?”

I nodded, raising an eyebrow in question. Rory nodded her consent.

“Rory is both fae and demon. And she gave me her true name…” I gave the part-fae a chance to stop me but she didn’t. Interesting – she trusted me to give the command. “Pamela Ravenscroft meet Sorcha Aideen Petrides. Pamela I command you never to reveal Sorcha’s race or true name to another without her explicit permission.”

Pam shuddered as the command took hold. She turned to Rory, impressed. “You gave him your true name.”

Rory said quietly, “He knew what it meant to thank me. He is vampire, such a gift is rare. I was honoured.”

Pam eyed her. Satisfied she was sincere Pam added with a hint of menace, “You will not abuse that gift.”

“No. I won’t put him in danger.” She smiled at Pam. “You are very close.”

Pam looked between us. “So you talked as well as fucked?”

Rory chuckled. “No. I can sense the love you have for him.”

After a few seconds of working that out, followed by disbelief, Pam growled at me. “She can tell what I’m feeling. You knew she could do that, didn’t you? Would it have killed you to give me a heads up?”

I grinned. “It’s more fun to watch you squirm.”

“Fuck you.” She stomped around the desk and threw herself into her chair.

Rory laughed, and then yawned mightily. “As fun as it is watching you two squabble, I should get home before the tequila wears off.” She waved at the tube of cream. “Coat the scars in that once or twice a night. Before you rest would be ideal. Let me know when it runs out and I’ll make another run to Cancún. I have a friend there who’s a genius with herbs.”

I pulled out my phone. “Number?”

“Oh right.” She rattled it off and we exchanged texts while she yawned repeatedly. With that done, she bid us goodnight and popped directly out of the office.

She was going to take some getting used to, but I liked her, meddling aside. She was direct, tactless even, but I preferred that to the usual fae secrecy.

And even more unusual for the fae her sense of honour extended to vampire. She had proved that, immediately repaying the trust I gave her with my thanks by trusting me in turn with her name.

It might not give me any direct power over her, but there was at least one reason she used an alias. Petrides gave away her demon origins. Something she obviously wished to hide.

And anyone who kept Pam on her toes was definitely amusing, if nothing else.

…

I pulled a chair up and sprawled back, kicking my feet up onto the desk. I wanted to discuss the threats against Sookie, but Pam spoke first.

“Thank you for defending me,” she said softly.

Ah. Sookie’s frustrated outburst. It was unfortunate that shifter had insisted on secrecy. I was ready for Sookie to lash out at me, but I couldn’t stand it when she yelled at Pam. Not after everything Pam had done for me in the last year, not when I knew how much Sookie had hurt her. And Pam couldn’t defend herself without getting caught in the crossfire. Again.

I gave her a fond look. “Of course. She was out of line.”

Pam hesitated. “She… doesn’t seem to trust you. What exactly did happen between you?”

I looked away; extremely glad I’d already locked down our bond tonight. After the quantity of blood Pam had given to revive me at Sookie’s house, so soon after Oklahoma, it was uncomfortably intense at this proximity, our emotions bleeding into each other, and it would be for at least a week.

“Does it matter?” I really didn’t want to be reminded that I’d been a fool. A fool to think I needed to prevent Sookie following me to Oklahoma as she’d followed Bill to Jackson.

She shrugged. “I suppose not.”

I guessed at her unspoken reasoning: it didn’t matter, not when I would be leaving soon. Felipe had been coerced to give me sanctuary in Louisiana as it was. Once he found out I was healed, he’d want me out of his territory.

It was probably for the best. My presence would only increase Sookie’s usefulness in his eyes, make her more of a temptation.

I frowned at that thought. Time to assess her situation.

“Tell me about this human hit-man.”

Pam eyed me for a second before she accepted the change of topic. “Ex- Navy seal,” she said as she moved to open the door to her ‘boudoir’. “I’ll get you the files.”

She returned with a set of folders, and handed me one. I speed read through it. It was thorough, meticulous. There was nothing in the sniper’s background to indicate either Felipe or Freyda had hired him. Except… it had been about a month after that spectacular argument I had with Freyda, after I’d goaded her about her lack of orgasms and she’d slapped me.

Shit. Was she really that petty? It wasn’t like she didn’t have plenty of sex elsewhere, human and vampire. Surely she wouldn’t risk the political ramifications of an assassination over that…

I remembered how she behaved when she had me in chains: the hurt tone that crept into her voice over Nikolai, the bitterness over my supposed treason with Wallace. And that cat-got-the-cream look of triumph when we fucked under the trees in the park that time. Triumph because she thought I was thawing, beginning to respond to her sexually.

I was fooling myself again. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to admit Freyda had feelings for me – possessive, controlling, jealous feelings – I’d never cared, and cared even less now she was dead. What I didn’t want to admit was that my pig-headedness and failure to use Freyda’s feelings to my advantage might have cost Sookie everything.

Fuck. I threw the file on the desk in self-disgust. I had allowed some lingering loyalty for her, my fucking feelings, to influence my strategy with Freyda instead of using strategy and pragmatism. Why couldn’t I think clearly about anything if Sookie was involved?

Pam queried me with a look. I slumped further into the chair and muttered, “Freyda, I think.”

“How so?”

I rubbed my face in annoyance. “The timing fits. We had a … spat. I told her she should have mandated orgasms in the contract.”

“You weren’t fucking her?” She was surprised.

“Not… to her satisfaction, no.”

Pam threw her head back and laughed, loudly. When she finally stopped, pretending to wipe tears away, she drawled, “Eric Northman, _the_ Eric Northman, failed to satisfy?”

I scowled at the offending file. “I should have fucked her senseless.”

Pam went still. “Perhaps. That might have made her more ... pliable.”

She paused, thoughtful for a moment. “But she was a demanding cow while she was here. There would be some other excuse to be pissed with you instead.” Then she added decisively, “Frankly, the bitch didn’t deserve you.”

No, she didn’t. But I’d been unwise and Pam knew it. I snorted. “Do not humour me, Pam.”

I was grateful for her loyalty but I didn’t want her charity.

After a minute more fuming at myself, I asked for the rest of the files and lost myself in the minutiae of some excellent investigations.

…

I threw the last file on the desk, and stared blindly at the ceiling while I digested the facts, mental gears shifting. Pam stopped inputting the week’s receipts, looked up from her computer and waited for my verdict.

“You’ve done very well. Who’s the investigator?”

“Maxwell. He has a gift for detail.”

“You rewarded him for this?” She nodded. Good.

“So, the fae.” Start with the worst. They were hardest to defend against, especially during the day. When potential assassins can teleport to their target …

“Cataliades assured me the threat receded about six months ago.” She grimaced. “He wouldn't elaborate but he obviously communicates with the realm and knows something.”

“The portals are open again, at least for Niall. We will have to find out if that changes things.”

“Agreed. But the team is equipped to deal with fae, and we dealt with the last lot effectively.” She had a dreamy look.

“Tasty were they?”

She smirked. “Cataliades offered a bounty on behalf of the fae, only if they were alive. They were young, inexperienced hotheads. We subdued them easily with Diantha's help. Thalia took the opportunity to collect some… samples.” She licked her lips and murmured, “Delicious.”

I chuckled. “Moving on. The bitterness left over from the Pack War?”

“Ah. Herveaux was most annoyed. They managed to kidnap him. His wife rescued him, but not his pride.” Her eyes twinkled with mirth. “I think he would have liked to forget the whole thing, but she insisted he take it to that new forum of theirs.”

“Ah. The Two-Natured Caucus?” The shifters had finally realised they had to organise nationally.

She waved vaguely, “Yes, some forum for inter-pack disputes, the Board of Arbitration I think the wolf called it. It’s supposed to keep a lid on the violence and vendettas, control any negative publicity. The judgement went for Herveaux and Long Tooth. The other pack was fined. And to end the vendetta they were ordered to participate in some sort of short term offspring exchange.”

“Interesting.” That technique for conflict resolution was as old as the hills. My people had used such ‘hostage’ exchanges to forge peace and foster understanding between warring groups, usually with the leaders’ sons. Spending their formative years with the enemy kept the peace and taught them respect and understanding. Or their enemy’s weaknesses… I doubted the Board had imposed anything so drastic, more likely an exchange of teenagers for few weeks. Still, it might help. “Does Herveaux anticipate further trouble from that quarter?”

“No.”

“Good. That leaves the attacks by humans. Let’s start with the initial attempt to bomb Merlotte's.”

“You think that was significant?”

“Perhaps... humans are easy to manipulate. Especially those who have proved susceptible to Fellowship propaganda.”

It seemed unlikely that three men in Ruston would hear about a wedding in Bon Temps, and there were some inconsistencies in the perpetrators’ stories. Glamouring hadn't resolved them, and I was wary of dismissing the attack after my experiences in Oklahoma. Vampires had used human bombers there in a classic trick of misdirection.

If a crafty vampire had wanted to test the guards around Sookie, or scare her, perhaps injure her in an attack, what better cover than some incompetent rednecks…

We discussed that, not coming to any firm conclusions on whether Freyda, Felipe or even Nadia could have been behind it. Or even vampires unknown looking for revenge, access to a telepath or a handle on me.

But we agreed the Chosen remained a persistent and dangerous threat in and of themselves after their recent attempt on Sookie and the shifter.

Acting alone as far as Pam could confirm, she believed they had targeted Merlotte, well-known and respected in his community, to send a message to other shifters that none of them were safe. Including Sookie was a warning against humans fraternising with the two-natured.

It was possible somebody from the remnants of the original Fellowship remembered her and wanted revenge on a plucky waitress who had foiled their plans several times with nothing but her intelligence and quick thinking... But we had no evidence of that.

Either way, attention from the paramilitary organisation was unwelcome.

Ideally we needed intelligence to thwart another attack, forewarned being forearmed. I’d had access to information from the southern Zeus states as Freyda’s consort, but not anymore. Pam believed Stan would warn her if he heard anything, but he ruled a large state, and even though he'd given Sookie his protection I couldn't be sure her safety was that much of a priority.

Plus his information wasn’t local to us, here in Amun.

Sadly Amun was not as harmonious – Amun states did not co-operate against the Chosen. Even if they had been collaborating, neither of us was in a position within the hierarchy to access intelligence anyway.

We discussed possible contacts who might be in a position to help. They were thin on the ground, but I suggested Betty, Mississippi’s second. She owed Sookie her life, if nothing else, so it was worth asking her. Pam thought that Mississippi himself might be agreeable.

Having dealt with prioritising action on known threats, I had two questions left from the earlier conversation with Sookie.

“So why is Bubba really in Vegas?”

“Ah. He was becoming a bit of a handful.”

“Of course, the last time he sang.” Victor met his death at our hands. Violence upset the cretin.

“No, actually. It was something else.” She was uncomfortable again.

“What upset the idiot this time?”

“He has some very odd ideas about marriage.”

I frowned. “Did he see his ex-wife again?” That had ‘upset’ him for months about twenty years ago. He’d had to be restrained.

“Ah. No.” She coughed. “Don’t tell Sookie. He lost it when he heard she’d married the shifter.”

I blinked. “He did?”

“Yes. Apparently men are allowed to step out on their wives whenever they like,” she snorted, “but women aren’t supposed to remarry. Ever.”

“I see.” I was nonplussed. It had taken him a while to get used the idea that ‘Miss Sookie’ wasn’t Bill’s ‘girl’ and it hadn’t seemed like he gave the pledging any special weight. Whatever tattered remains of his brain still functioned in his skull clearly didn’t cope well with change. That was the only explanation – I doubted he had understood the circumstances surrounding the messy end to our relationship well enough to form a real opinion. “But he is well treated in Vegas?”

“Oh yes, like a pampered pet.” She rolled her eyes, and then added nonchalantly, “I see him when I visit. You know how people underestimate him; forget he’s in the room…”

My eyes widened. Clever, clever child. An unwitting spy in de Castro’s court. “Is he still loyal to you?”

She shrugged. “Enough to warn me, I think.”

“Good. That was well played.”

“Thank you.”

I mused for a minute. “You mentioned another incident this spring, not an attack.”

A flicker of panic wrinkled her brow. “Oh, that was nothing.”

“Pamela. Clearly it was something from Sookie’s reaction earlier and yours now.” Sookie had looked confused for a minute at the topic, and then recognition was followed quickly by a mix of regret and pain.

“Don’t ask me to tell you. It’s private; she wouldn’t want you to know.”

I studied her face. She meant every word. And thought it would distress me too. What could… I was suddenly up on my feet, hands clenched. “What did he do to her?”

She relaxed and shook her head. “No, not the shifter, not that.” Then she reminded me sharply, “And things between them are not your concern.”

I slowly lowered back into the chair. “What then?”

She shook her head again. “Just a minor… medical problem.”

Medical. She was never sick. Something she wanted kept private. Something serious then. My mind flew to the details of her family history that I’d unearthed when I first knew her. Her aunt. No. Not that. It couldn’t be. She was too young. Shit. I barely noticed I was on my feet again, pulling my hand through my hair. “Ludwig, she has to go to Ludwig. Once I get everything back, I’ll offer to pay–”

“Eric. Stop acting like a girl.” Her tone was sharp, commanding.

I froze. “What?”

“Fuck a zombie. Stop panicking. I said it was minor, not terminal.”

I gaped at her for a second, and then regained enough composure to ask, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I threw myself back into the chair, feeling embarrassed and relieved.

She looked at me curiously. “Your feelings for her are just as intense.”

“Unfortunately,” I bit out. I hated this. I had to control my reactions more thoroughly. Revealing myself to Pam was one thing, but around anyone else it could be disastrous.

“Yes. I thought…” She trailed off.

“Speak freely, Pam.”

She sighed. “Miriam. The pain has faded already. I still miss her, of course, but it is only an almost pleasant ache these days. I don’t want to kill anyone when I think of her.”

“That is good. You are healing.”

“Yes. I took another lover last fall. It didn’t last past midwinter, but it helped. Perhaps…” She looked at me.

I sighed. “There were women in Oklahoma.” Well, not really. There were donors. I hadn’t met anyone of worth. But I’d never needed another dalliance to get over someone in the past. Although it had been a while since I’d cared enough to have something to get over…

“It didn’t help.”

“No.” Not at all. If anything it made it worse. Even with Rory, barely five minutes later I was thinking of Sookie. I scuffed at the rug with my foot, avoiding Pam’s sympathetic look. It made me want to hit something.

The rug felt rough against the tender skin; my stumps were throbbing lightly. I rubbed them harder, relishing the sudden swell of pain.

I knew that was what I would be doing if I stayed here to keep some connection with her: rubbing salt in the wound, relishing the pain.

That … wasn’t me.

It would be healthier to leave, put her out of my thoughts for good.

As I’d tried to do for the last three years.

…

I took the couch again to go over the quarterly profit reports for Pam. She worked quietly at her desk. I took comfort from her presence, and immersed myself in figures.

Thirty minutes before midnight Pam took a call. “Yes, he’s here. One moment.” She threw her cell to me.

“Northman.”

“Ah, Eric. Are you available to talk business?” Desmond Cataliades. I’d been waiting for his call.

“Yes. How did it go in Oklahoma?”

“The negotiations went well. May I fax you the details?”

“Please. Pam’s office.”

“Of course.” He paused, and typed something in the background. The fax machine whirred to life. “Your capital will be returned in full, with a generous return. I’m sending the details. There are options to keep some of the investment portfolio, but you will want to wait on those decisions.”

Yes, I would. I needed to know who would replace Freyda as my partner in those investments.

Being currently penniless was a more pressing priority: all Freyda’s accounts including my capital had been frozen in the aftermath of her death, along with the only account in my name, the one for the pitiful ‘allowance’ she gave me. Everything I’d kept hidden from Freyda had been transferred to Pam or sunk into the fund for Sookie’s guards.

“When can I access my funds? Have they appointed a new monarch yet?”

“Some emergency funds will be available to you tomorrow; details are in the fax. The investigation is still on-going, and the throne has yet to be allocated.”

“Of course,” I grunted. Two weeks was a long time to leave a throne empty, but Nadia had a claim to it so both Amun and Zeus were negotiating, which complicated things. If it wasn’t for Stan’s show of strength locally, someone would have taken advantage by now.

“I have put in a claim against the state of Oklahoma for compensation on your behalf, for the, ah, injuries you received, but that will have to wait for the new monarch to be in place.”

“Any idea when a decision will be made?”

“In the next week, I expect. Negotiations are complicated.”

I snorted. Yes, complicated by political manoeuvring – several factions bickering over an empty throne would do that.

“Well, I won’t keep you Eric. Look over the figures, and let me know if you need anything further.”

“I’ll be in touch.” I disconnected, and threw the phone back to Pam. I grabbed the faxed papers and sprawled on the couch to look them over quickly.

I was pleasantly surprised. There was no penalty if I pulled out of everything; my capital would be returned in full; with a nice return for three years. It almost made up for the annoyance of re-investing it. But if I was leaving, it was a good time to create a new portfolio.

I wanted to keep some of the more promising Oklahoma investments, but that depended on whether a partnership with the new monarch was workable. And the emergency transfer would be sufficient for now.

Things were looking brighter.

…

About ten minutes later, Thalia rang Pam.

We were both on our feet, alert, at the background sounds of commotion. Thalia spat something derogatory about goats in Greek, and the noises faded.

“The shifter is here. He is… eager to see you, Sheriff.”

“Hell-fire and demon bollocks,” Pam groaned. “Wait outside for me.”

She shoved her phone angrily into her pocket and snapped at me. “I’ll keep him out front. For fuck sake remember you’re supposed to be injured and change that damned shirt before you join us.” She muttered something about ruining a quiet night as she left.

I looked down at the faint tear stains on my shirt. Fuck. I pulled it off, zipping into Pam’s private room.

Luckily Pam had shown me some new merchandise when we first arrived, including a shirt in my size. She’d thrown it on the bed in here. I shoved the stained one under the pillow, pulling on the fresh one as I came back to the couch to grab my boots. As I was tying the laces I saw the tube of cream on the desk. It had quite a pungent smell, not offensive, but it would mask any lingering scent on me. I grabbed the cream and rubbed a generous amount into my chest as fast as I could. Then I snatched up the leather gloves from the coffee table – ordinary gloves to hide my healed hands, Pam had thought of that – and pulled them on as I left.

I made my way silently along the corridor towards the bar, following the raised voices. He was more than agitated. My appearance would make him worse, best to hang back until he’d let off some steam ranting and blustering at Pam. I stopped behind the door to the bar, which Pam had left ajar. She was speaking calmly.

“… exactly what I told Calvin. Nothing untoward happened. I was unavailable. Eric came to the house after the guards raised the alarm. He fed her blood to heal. That’s all that happened.”

He growled. “And I'm supposed to believe that? The fucking panthers won't tell me anything.”

“You know they're bound. They can't speak to you or anyone outside the team about the job.” That was a wise step, this witch she'd found had obviously proven useful. That was why she had given the weres a question to identify me – that was a subtle spell. I was impressed. Pam had been very thorough.

“She's my wife. They should be able to tell me. And their own damn packmaster.”

“The fewer people they can blab to, the more secure she is. You know this.” Pam sounded bored.

I could hear him moving around. Sniffing. “She’s been here tonight, don’t fucking deny it.”

“Yes. She came to ask me about her guards.”

“I don’t believe you. She would have asked me, not driven all the way over here.” He growled. “Where is he? I know he’s here. And just how the fuck did he get into our house to give her blood anyway?”

I blinked. Ah. That.

I didn’t intend to reveal how that had happened. He would just have to assume… Shit. I debated pushing him for a moment. If I could be sure he’d direct his anger at me… No. Things had seemed volatile between them that night; Sookie would bear the brunt of his reaction if I refused to explain.

Pam was silent, and there was a frustrated snarl from the bar. He wasn't calming down.

“Get him out here,” he demanded.

My cue.

I limped through the door, and leant heavily against the end of the bar. Pam was a few feet along, sitting on a stool with her back against the bar. Merlotte was in front of her pacing to and fro in the clear space of the dance floor. His head whipped to me as soon as I appeared and his lip curled. He stepped towards me and I could hear him scenting the air. He relaxed a little once he couldn't find her scent on me.

“How the fuck did you get in my house?”

“Through the front door,” I deadpanned. Couldn't make it too easy for him.

His eyes flashed. “How did you get through the ward?”

“Sookie was unconscious in the bathroom. I crossed the ward before I realised it was there.” I turned to Pam and asked in Norse: “ _Did you have an invitation?”_

Her eyes widened. _“Yes, from the night before.”_

“I believe I could enter because my child had an invitation.”

“That’s bullshit.” He was suspicious, but he wanted to believe me.

I shrugged. “It’s the truth, take it or leave it.”

Pam added, “It's true that some makers have this ability. But we don't advertise it.”

He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment. “Very convenient.”

Time for a little diversion to deflect his suspicion. “I wouldn’t have been needed if the guards could get in. Why couldn't they get hold of you?”

That put him on the back foot. He said defensively, “That's none of your fucking business.”

“Actually, it is.” Pam's tone was level. “We had an agreement that you would not hinder the guards. You are supposed to be reachable to invite them in in circumstances like these. They couldn’t help her. They couldn’t even call emergency services.”

“Well, why the fuck didn't you call Jason?”

“They tried. He wasn’t answering his phone. Why were you out of touch?”

He spluttered, muttering, “Damn phone died in the car.” His eyes were dancing with guilt. So, like a cornered animal, he fought back by rounding on me. “You committed a blood offense against me.”

I looked at him coldly. “Did you see the video? She was dying.”

“It's still a blood offense. You owe me compensation. I could go to de Castro,” he said forcefully. Where was he going with this?

“Good luck with that. He's not my king. And I don't think you want to draw his attention to Sookie.” That really wasn’t a good idea.

“Yeah? But you do owe me. So in exchange for me not going to de Castro you can stay the fuck away from my wife.”

I shrugged. “I doubt I'll be frequenting your bar. I won't seek her out... unless she's hurt again.” Of course, if she came to see me, that was another matter.

He growled. “No. You can stay the fuck away. She doesn't want you. She never did.”

My jaw clenched, but I didn't react. I let him rant.

He stepped closer. “She fell for you when you weren’t yourself, because you needed her, because she's a sweet girl. None of the rest of it meant anything to her. The bond. The pledging. She never loved you. It was all your blood.”

I locked down every muscle. Rationally I knew he was just posturing, lashing out because he thought I was a threat. That didn't mean I enjoyed hearing it, even if I had thought the same things myself a thousand times over in Oklahoma.

Pushing my feelings aside, I concentrated on him. His stance was more aggressive than I’d ever seen it. He stepped closer again, less than a foot from me. Easy reach. He’d never been reckless before either.

He spoke with quiet intensity. “Know how I know that?”

He paused for effect, while I tried to unlock the motives behind his behaviour, scrutinising his body language. He waited until my eyes met his.

“She was fucking me two days after you left,” he said quietly, without bravado, sincerity in his eyes. I caught a flicker of shame at exposing something private, a flicker of the decency he had exhibited in the past.

I flinched once his meaning reached me. The old Sam disappeared at that sign his barb had hit home and his eyes glowed. He growled menacingly. “Stay the fuck away from her. You’re not welcome in her life.”

With that he spun and stalked towards the door, Pam hot on his heels to escort him out.

I waited for them to get outside. Then I moved, straightening up, stretching to relieve the tension. I stared at the entrance for a minute, processing his last comment.

I had pushed her his way because I’d seen how she reacted to loss with Bill. I didn’t expect to see her again, and I didn’t want her to grieve for too long, the way she had after his betrayals. I wanted her to move on.

Well. Maybe in my head, that logic had made perfect sense. But my fucking feelings were a bit more complicated.

I was pissed. Hurt. Disappointed.

I’d held onto a faint hope that if he’d stayed away from her like I’d asked, once she found out she’d take it as a lack of interest on his part. Maybe with time she might understand why I’d done it, even realise how I still felt about her.

A ridiculous hope given my strategy at the time was designed to do the opposite: free her from any obligation to me, encourage her to find solace with someone else.

But it was a vain hope. Never going to happen. She had already moved on, she had already fallen for him. I’d known that as soon as she’d saved him. But I’d persisted with my plan to the bitter end, thinking her loyalty to me would still hold her back.

I didn’t even rate a week of moping.

Maybe my plan had been too effective or maybe I’d totally misjudged her reaction.

She always did have a knack of astonishing me. This time not pleasantly.

C’est la vie. And la vie is a bitch.

I made my way back to the office.

…

When Pam came in, I was sprawled on the couch, hands behind my head. She went straight to her desk avoiding my eyes, sparing my feelings again. That had to stop.

“Pamela.” I opened our connection briefly, flooding her with my puzzlement and curiosity. I felt her flash of surprise in response.

“Eric, what is it?”

“How long has Merlotte been acting like that?”

She frowned. “He’s a shifter. Territorial _is_ their territory.”

“No. Not for Merlotte. He once asked me to his bar to help Sookie. He put her needs before his pride.”

“Ah. That’s why you set them up.”

I raised an eyebrow and she snorted at me. “Letting Bill overhear us? Really, Eric, I wasn’t turned yesterday and you certainly weren’t. You set that up. You knew Bill would tattle to her. And you knew if she found out that you’d bargained for the shifter to leave her alone that would be a red flag to a bull.”

I gave her an appraising look. “Do you disapprove?”

She set her jaw and looked right back. “Yes. You manipulated my friend.”

Then she sighed. “But you didn’t have many options, and fortuitously it did prevent Bill getting his hooks into her again. That would have been disastrous while he owed de Castro fealty. Was that planned?”

I shrugged. “Hoped for bonus.”

“And you thought the shifter was… What, a suitable consolation prize?”

“No. She had already fallen for him, she just need a nudge.” Not much of one, apparently. I looked at the ceiling and added quietly, “He was the best candidate. I believed he would look after her.”

“You were angry when you left.”

“Yes.”

“With her.”

“Yes.” Yes, I had been. Angry, hurt, bitter.

“But you wanted her to be happy?” she asked doubtfully.

“I wanted her safe.” I paused. “And I was miserable enough; it served no purpose for her to be too.”

She came over and perched on the table beside me. “You are a manipulative asshole. Stubborn, arrogant and impossible. You wouldn’t even talk to me about anything, what you were planning, what you were up to with Bill and the shifter, what happened with Sookie. You just barked instructions and told me what to tell her.”

She traced the wood grain of the table for a minute. “But you tried to do the right thing for her. Which is not like you.”

She was right; when affairs ended badly I tended to cut exes out of my life and move on without a backward look. And take the anger out on everyone else.

I hadn’t been pleasant to deal with when Freyda was here to finalise the contract.

“You would have done the same for Miriam.”

She shook her head. “No, I am not sure I could have done the same in your position, not even for Miriam.”

I squeezed her hand briefly. “You will never be in that position.” She didn’t need to worry about maker’s contracts; I would never force her to marry.

We were quiet for a minute, and I thought of Karin and happier times. Eventually, I shook myself back to the present.

“So, when did the shifter change?”

She frowned. “I don’t know. He’s been a massive demon dick about the whole guard situation from day one.”

“He is definitely behaving differently.”

“Hmm. After your absence, it would be more obvious to you. It must have been gradual, I didn’t really notice. Not that I dealt with him much before…” She cocked her head. “Are you thinking Rory was on to something with that ‘join’ shit?”

“I don’t know. But something is definitely not right with our shifter friend. Has he been worse recently?”

“Hard to say. We don’t meet regularly unless there’s a problem. And the recent upswing in shithead behaviour correlates with a large blond fly in his ointment.” She smirked at me.

I grunted. “He’s too tightly wound. He could snap.”

She patted my thigh. “We can’t interfere. She will deal with it Eric. She dealt with you – the shifter will be a piece of cake.”

I pulled a face. “Thanks. Do you want to hear my advice about your businesses now?”

…

After some heated discussion she reluctantly agreed it might possibly have been a mistake to open a new boutique with Lucy Beachings during the current economic slump. She was less obstreperous when I praised the rest of her portfolio, and that settled, I offered to play secretary for her. She had a mountain of routine correspondence she’d been ignoring for the last few weeks.

It was a generous offer: she knew how much I hated it. But she didn’t hesitate to take advantage, and that was only fair as she’d ignored it in favour of nursing me.

By four a.m. I was thoroughly sick of it. I was searching for a polite way to say ‘fuck off’ to the umpteenth inane request for Pam’s time, when her cell rang.

The William Tell overture blasted out. She blinked and answered it warmly, “Sheriff of Area Five here.”

“Good evening.” I recognised Texas’s voice and made the connection. The Lone Ranger theme? How… Texan.

I quirked an eyebrow at her, curious as to why he was calling and then wondered if this was a personal call as she practically purred into her phone: “Your majesty, how lovely to hear from you.”

“Are you free to talk?” he asked.

“Yes, but I’m not quite alone. Do I need to be?” She winked at me. Yeah, if it was that sort of call I was out of here. Stan Davis didn’t do it for me.

He chuckled. “Business first. I thought you might like to know the latest on Alabama. Her trial is set to start on Wednesday here in Dallas.”

Pam stiffened. “Is that an invitation?”

“Yes. I take it your beloved King hasn’t seen fit to inform you?”

“No, the bastard hasn’t.” I winced. She really shouldn’t trust another King with her feelings about de Castro, but to be fair he’d sold me down the river and from what happened in Oklahoma Stan knew enough about how that turned out that her feelings weren’t going to be any surprise to him.

“Well, then it falls to me to invite you as the host state. You may be called as a witness.”

“I see. Any idea how long I might be away from my area?”

“Only a few nights I think. Teresa can hardly complain.” He paused. “You will have my protection here if you wish to leave Thalia behind. Or I can send two trusted guards to your Area if you wish.”

She grinned at my what-the-fuck look. “No, that won’t be necessary. Is the ranch available?”

He chuckled. “It is. What exactly do you have in mind? I will be busy.”

“May I bring a guest?”

“Oh.” He sounded a little disappointed. But then he added with curious interest, “A ménage? Will I approve?”

She said teasingly, “Perhaps. We’ll arrive tomorrow after three. Until then, your majesty.” She rang off.

I wasn’t sure what to ask first. Who was she taking, Thalia? Why had Stan offered to send guards into another state? For me, I assumed. Was it a genuine offer or a ruse to catch me while I was weak? Clearly he expect Pam to be comfortable trusting him with where I was sheltering while I was incapacitated – my memories were hazy, but I was sure Pam had been suitably vague about my destination when we left Oklahoma. “What the fuck was that about?”

She shrugged. “We have a good… rapport. And I thought you would want to attend the trail.”

Oh. I was the guest. Hmm. That posed several problems. Most glaringly, hiding my recovery. I wasn’t quite ready to leave Louisiana.

“Will de Castro be there?” It was his state Nadia had planned to annex after all.

A slow, malicious grin spread across her face. “You don’t remember. I told you just before we left Oklahoma.” When I’d still been out of it, practically hallucinating with pain and ravenous hunger. “I doubt he’ll be there. He had a little run in with some vampires from New Mexico.”

“Really. How bad?”

She chuckled. “He lost an arm.”

I grinned back at her. “How … terrible.”

“Yes. So, do you want to come? The ranch is secure, off the radar.”

“You trust Texas.”

“Yes. We can assess the situation on the ground once Stan fills us in tomorrow.”

“Who else is likely to be there?”

“Texas, Mississippi. Possibly Indiana. Whoever the clans have sent to judge and whoever arrives to watch the trial.”

“Fine. We’ll go and deal with it there.” It would be well-attended, a risk, but I would like to see the bitch tried. “And Pam? No ménage. Texas is so not my type.”

She laughed. “Oh, don’t worry. I plan to keep him to myself.”

…

It was strange going to rest alone in the spare room after weeks of resting with Pam.

In the silence, I thought about Sookie as I waited for dawn. It was a hard habit to break after three years.

I grimaced at Merlotte’s words, feeling the sting of truth in them.

I mulled over what Rory had said, what the unfamiliar fae magic might be capable of, if it was why Sookie defended their marriage so vehemently, what it meant for Sookie and the shifter.

Was the tie causing the shifter’s erratic behaviour?

I snorted, thinking of the things I’d done, how I’d behaved over her. Perhaps I didn’t need magic to explain that, perhaps it was just Sookie.

Rory had to be wrong about how Sookie felt about him. Niall told me it was a love token, and Rory called it that too. Sookie must have loved him to use it on him.

If Sookie was fighting the tie, it had to be subconsciously. Independence ran in her veins. Even while our bond swelled with her love, she fought it, hated the thought it was controlling her enough to eventually break it. I told myself firmly that even if she was fighting this strange fae magic, it didn’t mean she didn’t love the shifter.

Perhaps… she had fallen out of love, the bloom was off the rose already? As quickly as she’d fallen out of love with me… No, that wasn’t a comforting thought: that she was fickle in her affections.

Besides, plenty of marriages worked well when love faded. Sam had known her longer, better than all of us. Bill believed she’d had feelings for the shifter all along, ones she’d hidden so well she hadn’t acknowledge them even to herself.

She’d married him, stayed with him for three years. She defended their relationship fiercely to Rory. She was where she wanted to be.

I wouldn’t let my desire cloud my view of her again. I wouldn’t speculate on whether the tie had influenced her to turn to the shifter, to stay with him.

Irrelevant. She had pulled away from me before it came into being.

She wanted things I couldn’t give. She didn’t want me.

Even as I convinced myself of that, I couldn’t stop myself lingering over Sookie’s tears and our embrace. As dawn took me I was reliving her warmth, the scent of her hair and the feel of her in my arms.


	16. Late Night Café

I left Fangtasia in a daze, barely acknowledging Thalia in the parking lot. I drove through Shreveport on autopilot until the neon signs for a late-night diner hooked my attention. Hit by a sudden craving for caffeine and sugar I made a snap decision and pulled over.

The place was quiet, a few teenagers and an elderly couple at tables in opposite corners. I sat myself down at a central table next to the window and rubbed my face tiredly. I hoped all evidence of my earlier crying jag was gone.

The waitress came right over with coffee. She was late middle-aged, heavily made up with over-bleached blonde hair. A hard life showed in her rough hands and lived-in face. Another Arlene. Her thoughts would be bitter: life had passed her by, men had disappointed her. I shored up my shields.

“Hi there. You look like you need this,” she said in a kind voice. She smiled right to her eyes, and poured me a generous cup of coffee. “Milk and sugar are on the table, you just holler if you want to order anything.”

I smiled back. She wasn’t Arlene at all, I was getting cynical. “Thanks, what desserts do you have?”

“We have pie: pumpkin, chocolate and pecan. And I recommend the coffee walnut cake. It’s delicious as you can tell from my waistline.” She smiled and patted her stomach.

“Oh, um…”

“Now don’t tell me a pretty thing like you is dieting. A little meat on your bones is a good thing, I always say. And if you don’t mind me saying, you look like you deserve a treat.”

I smiled more warmly. Gran used to say a little treat now and then was good for the soul. “Yeah, it’s been a long day. I’ll have a slice of pecan pie, with everything please.”

“Sure thing sugar, it’ll be right over.”

I took a sip of scalding coffee and stared blankly out of the window. I couldn’t quite believe that there were guards out there in the darkness, watching over me. And had been for the last few years.

The waitress startled me when she came back with the biggest slice of pie piled high with ice-cream and cream. “Here you go, you enjoy it. And no calorie counting.” She winked at me.

At least the pie gave me a reason to sit and think for a spell.

…

The pie was great and the coffee was strong enough to peel paint, just what I needed. I savoured the taste of home and memories of Gran with each bite, while my mind jumped topics like a frog in a hot pan.

Niall hadn’t done any of the things to protect me I’d laid at his feet. I shouldn’t really be surprised. Head honcho to the fairies, plenty of kin to worry over, I was just one great-granddaughter and not a particularly fairy one at that. I had no delusions I was important to him beyond our weak kinship. The fairy idea of family was so… strange. His priorities were indecipherable, not at all like a human grandfather’s. He’d popped away without a glance on Saturday, asked Eric not me about severing our newly-formed connection. Although Niall had taken my husband to task for his absence much as a human grandfather might. Sam had–

I shovelled in a mouthful of pie, grounding myself with its sweet, rich taste.

It was strange that it was Eric who had gone to such lengths to protect me. I guess that was his code of honour, his way of doing right by me, like Bill had tried to do by pensioning me off. As always, Eric's gift was more practical.

Pam had said he was showing Freyda the depth of his loyalty by protecting me.

I hadn’t thought too hard about that at the time, I was so angry with him. But that really didn’t explain adding a century to his vows too well – wouldn’t doing that for a mere human make him look weak? And I’d got the impression Freyda was prone to jealousy, so I didn't think she would appreciate him going to those lengths for another woman. Plus the double-secret protection fund and guards could hardly impress Freyda if she didn’t know about them.

I should be grateful his idea of a 'divorce settlement' had kept me safe, allowed me a shot at a normal life, but it rankled that he’d never told me, that he'd only done it to salve his conscience.

I tried to decide whether I felt comforted or creeped out by unknown, undetectable guards following me around twenty-four seven. Who were they? Their scent would be all over the woods, I bet Sam–

I scooped up some melting ice cream. It was very good.

Pam. I couldn’t cut her out of my life again. Not after she’d done so much, without expecting so much as a thank you. I flinched again at Eric’s angry words. I was a lousy friend. There had to be a way of keeping her in my life without jumping back into the whole vampire world. I was disappointed in myself for throwing over such a close girlfriend because I got married. It was totally stupid, I’d never let a man dictate my friends before. Just because Sam was my–

I grabbed another mouthful. Heavier on the spices than Gran’s version, but close.

Karin was dead, must have been some fight. I wondered who was involved and if any other vampires I knew had been lost. At least Bubba and Pam were okay.

Who knew Karin had hidden depths, beyond being Eric’s pet Rottweiler in lipstick. I tried to muster up the reaction I’d have if any talented artist died, but a death at seven hundred didn’t evoke the same sense of unfairness as one at thirty or forty. I felt a glimmer of sympathy for Pam; I wasn’t completely cold-hearted. Loosing family was tough, even if they weren’t present in your life. Like Hadley.

Losing Hadley hadn’t compared to losing Gran. If you lived with the person, reminders were constant, everywhere. I didn’t want to go through that again. It would be almost as bad as a death if things didn’t work out with Sam–

Damn. The pie was all gone.

The image I’d managed to hold back muscled its way to the front of my mind. The taut cord, the burrowing roots, the wound in my chest… I scrunched my eyes tight and willed it away. I didn’t want to see it again.

I looked over to catch the waitress’ eye for more coffee.

Oh, she had a beau. A guy in a flannel shirt sat at the counter, and she was flirting with him. My custom couldn’t compete with that first flush of infatuation. But maybe she was more professional than I’d credited, or I’d stared at the happy couple too wistfully, because she was right over with a full jug. I was surprised when she offered to leave it.

“Oh, honey, I can see you’ve got a lot on your mind. You need a gallon of coffee this time of night.” She patted my shoulder sympathetically. “I remember what it’s like to be young.” She threw an affectionate glance at her man. _Couldn’t shake him off then, wouldn’t now if I could._

Oh. They’d been together for over twenty years. Had ups and downs but still greeted each other like teenagers… I swallowed a stab of jealousy and gave her a watery grin. “Thanks.”

Watching them reflected in the dark window, engrossed in quiet conversation, I realised that she had exactly what I wanted.

The universe sure loved to kick a girl when she was down.

I poured another coffee and gave in, letting my grasshopper mind settle on the enormous thorn bush I’d been avoiding.

This morning I thought I had a handle on my life.

I had a marriage undermined by poor communication and trust issues, plagued by petty fights and cracking under the weight of fertility problems and the worst sort of interfering mother-in-law. I’d faced down the dreaded D-word, decided to salvage something and clutched at counselling as the solution.

I’d heard about the skank, endured a few more hurtful fights with Sam, including sordid accusations about Eric, but we’d managed to come to some sort of truce and he’d reluctantly agreed to therapy.

I’d known where I stood.

Now… I didn’t know what the hell I had.

What Rory had thrust into my mind was something else.

Not that I trusted that. Lattesta had managed to fool me and he was human. Rory… I didn’t know what the hell she was, and I didn’t trust her as far as I could spit. She could have shown me a false image.

But…

Mr C had warned me that the damn fairy love token could have consequences. Far reaching ones.

It had been much simpler thinking the only consequence was Sam’s weird moodiness. But that could be explained perfectly well by shock at his resurrection, grief over Jannalynn’s death and a healthy dose of resentment at Eric’s high-handed demands.

What if Miss Cancún was right and it had created this mysterious fairy ‘join’ between us? What if that was the consequence?

I had no idea what a join was, what it could do.

At the time I hadn’t cared if the magic had changed my feelings for Sam or not, I’d thought it was for the best. But now there was a real likelihood that it had influenced me… I found I wasn’t comfortable with that.

Some weird fairy shit taking control of my life? Hell no, that wasn’t okay with me.

I hated being manipulated by things I didn’t understand.

But had it done that? I’d always had an attraction to Sam. And we’d always been close. Best friends. I searched my memories for an abrupt change in my feelings. There wasn’t one. I’d even gone running to Fangtasia to tell Eric I still loved him right after I’d saved Sam. Not that we’d managed to have that conversation, but still.

My feelings hadn’t changed overnight. They’d changed gradually. Wasn’t that natural?

And anyway, if fairy magic put the whammy on me, would I even be able to tell?

I groaned. Goddammit we had enough against us already, now I was second-guessing everything. And I hadn’t even touched on the real shocker yet.

Red pulses from Sam. Amber from me.

I remembered the weird drug-induced colours I saw when Alcide coerced me into playing pack shaman for him. I remembered what red and amber meant.

And I had a horrible feeling that Miss Swimsuit was right: I wasn’t in love with Sam.

…

I had been staring out past my own reflection into the night for a while when a polite cough startled me.

“Honey, I hate to rush you, but it's closing.”

“It is?” I glanced over at the clock. The place was empty and it was almost midnight. Shoot, I'd been here too long. I needed to hightail it home.

I followed her over to the counter and settled up, with a generous tip and an apology. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to keep you. I know what it's like, I was a waitress myself.”

Her man spoke up then. “Oh, she ain't a waitress, honey. My Dorothy here is the owner.”

“Oh. I guess I know what that's like too, I part own a place out in Bon Temps.”

Dorothy chuckled. “Working all hours, keeping the books straight, you sure do have a lot resting on those young shoulders. Hope you have a good partner.” She saw me stiffen and added, “For the business I mean.”

“Oh, yeah.” I twisted my rings nervously. “My husband, actually.”

“Oh, I don't know that Mike here could stand running a business with me.” She grinned at him.

“Nope. I prefer being a customer, get better service.” He winked.

They were both relaxed; I figured I could pry a little. I was curious about them. “How long y'all been married? You seem real happy.”

Dorothy answered. “Too long to count, girl. But I wouldn't have missed a minute, not even the bad ones.”

“Y'all have kids?” Oops. That caused them both some pain.

Mike stiffened, and Dorothy put her hand on his. “No, we couldn't. But that don't matter a bit.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't…” He was infertile, but she'd refused to leave him, even when he spiralled into drink and depression for a while and her family disapproved. She really loved him. I could only hope Sam loved me that much. “I …uh, I've been have some trouble with that myself.”

“Oh, honey. Don't you give up, things are better these days. And if it don't happen, you've got a good man. That’s enough.” She patted my arm. “You drive careful now.”

I muttered a good bye, and headed out remembering Michele’s words: a good man, but not the right man.

…

The interstate was clear, and I put the radio on full blast, singing along to keep awake and making good time. The drive was empty when I pulled up behind the house. Thank goodness I'd beaten Sam home.

I yawned, shucking my boots on the back porch. Shower then bed was my plan. I was exhausted.

In fact, I got as far as leaning back on my pillows fully clothed for a moment…

The next thing I knew someone was calling, “Sookie!”

I groaned. The voice was muffled, far away. I swam up from the depths of sleep, blinking and rubbing my eyes. The room came into focus. Sam stood in the doorway, door flung wide.

“Hi, honey. You just back?” I mumbled.

He went to the bathroom. Huh? He came back with a glass of water, handing it to me with a grim look. Oh, he wanted me awake. I sat up and drank it obediently between yawns, squinting at the clock. It was well after one.

I felt more alert. “You're back late. Problems?”

“You tell me. Did you have a quiet night?” His voice was tight, and I wasn't in the mood for it. I was never at my best just woken.

“No. I threw a party, invited half the parish,” I sassed.

Eyes flashing amber in the dim room he bit out, “I came home early. You weren't here.”

“Oh, I forgot I needed your permission to go out.” His barely contained anger was washing over me in waves. Jerk.

“Where did you go Sookie?” It sounded like a threat.

I opened my mouth to answer and remembered. Shit. I bit back on the sarcasm, and said levelly, “To see Pam. And it’s a good job I did. When were you gonna tell me about all the danger I’ve been in Sam?”

“Maybe when you asked me. You don’t go to the damn vampires for answers, you come to me. Your husband.”

Of all the downright paternalistic bullcrap… “Well, maybe I would if y’all stopped lying to me Sam.”

“I was protecting you.”

Oh, that was it. My temper bubbled over. “What from? The truth? The truth that my – no, _our_ lives were in danger. And I know damn well why you didn’t tell me. Because I might think twice about getting pregnant if I knew I was about to get kidnapped or murdered any minute.” Pain suddenly swallowed my anger whole and hot tears spilled as my worst fear tumbled right out of my mouth. “Is that all I am to you Sam? An empty womb?”

The glow in his eyes faded and he ran his hand through his hair. He said harshly, “No. You know you’re everything to me, Cher.”

I wiped my cheeks. “Well, you sure have a funny way of showing it lately, Sam Merlotte.”

He reached out to gently stroke my hair, whispering, “Sorry. I can’t do anything right, can I? I should know better than to wake you by now. You’re always like a bear with a sore head.”

I tried to smile at that, but my chin quivered and more tears spilt. He shushed me, and moved to hug me to him. I leant forward into his embrace, but he froze and a low rumble swelled in his chest.

He pushed me roughly back onto the bed and ran his nose down the front of my sweater, inhaling. The rumble rose to a snarl. “His scent is all over you!” He pulled back as if I was covered in silver. “What the fuck did you do?”

His voice was guttural, and his eyes were yellow-green, completely feline. His face was distorting and I realised with mounting horror that it was the night before full moon. I scrambled back against the headboard, feeling a surge of guilt for hugging Eric earlier. I meant to get back with plenty of time to shower and change.

I licked my dry lips.

“It … it was just a hug, Sam. That’s all. I was … thanking him for saving me.”

He let rip an inhuman howl. He grabbed my arms painfully tight and jerked my face to his. He yelled, point blank, “You’re my wife. My wife!”

I gasped at his grip. “Sam, Sam let go!” A cold knot of fear settled in my belly when he shook me instead, so hard my teeth rattled painfully.

“Is this payback for that stupid kiss? Is it?” he hissed.

“No, no. You’re hurting me. Let go!”

He threw me back onto the bed and leapt up. The air crackled with the power of his imminent shift as he loomed over me, his voice quiet and menacing. “No, it’s more than payback, isn’t it? You banished me to the spare room and you slept in this bed – our bed – calling out his name all damn night! How could you Sook?”

“What?” Before I could gather my wits to understand what he was saying, to realise I must have cried out during my nightmares of Eric dying, there was a sharp crack from the window. We both whipped round, but the window was empty.

“Damn spies,” he growled. He bounded out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

I sat stunned.

Then I started to shake uncontrollably. I pulled my knees up, hugged them tightly and clamped my mouth shut as the tears fell, too bewildered to make a sound.

I stayed like that for a long time, too shocked to move or fall asleep.

…

Confused and disorientated, I woke late, stiff and still in my clothes. As last night filtered back into my head, my pulse quickened and I sat up quickly. I was edgy.

No noises in the house. No minds either.

I checked the spare room. Not slept in.

No sign of Sam in the front room, or the kitchen. He hadn't come back. I felt calmer.

He had left a message on the house phone half an hour ago, like he did if he didn’t make it back after a run. His voice was gruff, heavy with reproach.

“Sook. I can’t trust myself round you right now. I’ll be at the bar until the full moon is over.”

Okay. I’d be alone today then.

It was almost eleven. Thank goodness it was my day off. I could spend it working out what the hell happened last night.

I retreated to our room and grabbed some clean clothes. I locked the bathroom door behind me, something I rarely did. I peeled off yesterday’s jeans with a shudder and took a really hot shower, grimacing at the blossoming purple handprints on my arms.

Feeling more like myself I sat down at the kitchen table with my drug of choice: a steaming coffee.

For months now, every time we made a little progress something came along that upset the apple cart and put us right back at square one. The constant tension, the feeling I was teetering on the edge, about to lose him – it was wearing me down.

This latest trauma … Yeah. Sam and jealousy sure didn’t mix well.

I got the territorial shifter stuff. Didn't like it, but understood it was part of his nature and he couldn't change it. He'd been agitated after Quinn's visit, but I hadn't felt scared, just angry at the way he manhandled me. Last night was something else.

Last night I'd honestly feared for my safety.

Now, in daylight, I felt I'd over-reacted. Half asleep and not thinking properly, I'd probably panicked more than I should. It wasn’t like Sam to be violent.

I tried to see things from his side, like Tara would. She’d asked what I’d done to provoke his reaction. She’d point out he came home to an empty house and was frantic with worry for me. Wives let their husbands know where they’d be.

I swallowed. It _was_ partly my fault. It was inconsiderate not letting him know where I was, especially right after I’d been kidnapped. Keeping my impromptu trip to see Pam from him, even if I hadn’t thought anything of that, even if it had been totally innocent, had naturally made him suspicious. And he clearly had a massive chip on his shoulder about Eric to fly off the handle like that.

Shit. This insecurity of his over Eric, however unfounded, I'd have to be real careful not to make it worse. No more traipsing over to Shreveport, no more vampire-scented clothes.

I'd poked the bear again last night too, sassing him before I realised how upset he was. I groaned. And so close to the full moon. I should know better.

Okay. It wasn't the end of the world. Just another argument. Sam would never hurt me. He’d just grabbed me a little roughly, is all. I'd feel better after some food.

…

I did feel better. I was transferring a load of laundry to the dryer an hour later when my cell rang. Caller unknown. I answered guardedly.

“Ludwig here. Returning your call.” Oh, right. The counsellor. Awkward.

“Oh, hi Dr Ludwig. I wonder if you could help me with something.” I hopped up to sit on the dryer.

“Well, spit it out girl.”

“Um. Well, the thing is…” I bit the bullet and rush out, “do you know any good counsellors? Ones that deal with supes?”

“Ah. Hmm. The local packs might know – I take it you want a specialist, for the miscarriages?”

“Oh. Um, no. I’m, well, we’re looking for a marriage counsellor.”

There was a pause. She asked sceptically, “And your husband agrees to this?”

“Yeah. He said he would do it.” That was before last night though…

“Hmm. I don’t know of any specialising in supes. Not much call. There’s a couple of young vampires on the West coast who were therapists as humans.”

“Oh. Um, yeah, I don’t think Sam would–”

“Who else can’t you read?” Beneath that prickly exterior, she was shrewd enough to recognise that was my major concern.

“Um. Fairies. Demons. I can shield well enough from twoeys but I get their emotions, so… yeah, they probably wouldn’t work.”

“There’s a fae healer in the area. She might know someone, or be able to help herself.”

I stiffened. “Rory Kingfisher?” She couldn’t fail to pick up on my hostility.

“Yes. You know her?”

I snorted. “Met her last night. Wasn’t that impressed.”

“Her references are impeccable. The vampire is in good hands, don’t worry on his account.”

“As if,” I muttered. “I think Eric can look out for Eric perfectly well.” I really needed to find out if all that mumbo-jumbo Rory spouted at me last night had any truth to it. Wording it carefully I added, “Ms Kingfisher told me something odd, about myself. Is she trustworthy?”

“She is a talented and respected healer. I’ve heard no complaints.”

Should I reveal what Miss Mexico had shown me? Dr Ludwig might have some insight into this bizarre ‘join’.

Wait a minute.

In her office, at our first consult, she called me and Sam ‘joined’. Shit, maybe that hadn’t just been an archaic term for marriage…

I said slowly, “You said we were _joined_. And we were a _unique_ couple. What exactly did you mean?” When you were throwing me significant looks, and expecting me to understand your cryptic clues, I added to myself.

She cursed softly. “There’s a magical tie, a join between you and your husband, a strong one: I tasted it in both your bloods. You are unique because a certain item was used.”

Shit. I breathed deeply, stemming a flood of anxiety. “Do you know how this join works?”

“Not exactly.” She added gruffly. “Sorry. Thought you knew.”

“Nope. No idea.”

“No-one bothered to tell you. Irresponsible idiots.” I didn’t point out that she hadn’t exactly spilt the beans either. She sounded almost sympathetic when she continued. “A join is not a bar to offspring as far as I know, but yours is atypical. I am beginning to suspect it may be contributing to the problem. Now the portals are open I should discover more soon. I’ll ask around for a therapist. I’ll be in touch.”

And with that she hung up.

Well damn. Miss Two-Piece might be right.

I was no nearer finding out what a damn join did, though. I so didn’t need this on top of everything else. Goddamn fairy crap.

I put my phone down and angrily stuffed the rest of the load into the dryer. I put a second load into the washer, my clothes from last night. Stupid territorial shifter crap.

I looked outside at the grey sky and contemplated chopping wood to relieve my frustration, but it was drizzling slightly and Sam would pout that it was his job. After a few minutes, I sighed and turned to go back inside, picking up my phone as I went. I glanced at it and noticed a missed call from Pam. It came in not long after midnight last night. Oops, radio on full blast driving home.

I picked up the voicemail.

Pam’s voice spoke airily. “Sookie. Your husband just left Fangtasia. He’s on his way home.” Click.

What! He’d gone to Fangtasia?

Had he followed me? Found out from my guards where I was? If imagining he was that paranoid wasn’t disturbing enough, I realised Pam’s innocent sounding message was meant as a warning: angry husband on the warpath.

Oh Lord.

A hot flush of embarrassment spread through me: had he lost his temper, yelled at Pam and aired our dirty laundry in a fit of jealousy?

I grimaced at that thought. I didn’t like my friends thinking badly of Sam. Pam already thought shifters were volatile. And I’d talked to her about our problems, so her opinion of him was already tarnished. I groaned. He’d probably gone off the deep end and made things worse.

Oh no. Eric. I groaned again. I bet that smug arrogant ass wound Sam up even more. I could just see it playing out between them. God knows Eric was enough to try the patience of a saint at the best of times. No wonder Sam’s fuse was short when he got home.

And then his wife sassed him. Covered in Eric’s scent. No wonder my kind, loving, easy-going husband had lost his temper so spectacularly.

I resolved to be extra nice to him when he came home. I’d make him his favourite meal. I looked through the cupboards and made a list.

…

I’d put up the groceries and was just sorting through the junk mail and bills I’d brought in, when there was a knock on the front door.

I hadn’t heard a car. We’d hung a bell at the bottom of the steps because the ward wouldn’t let delivery men onto the porch. It had to be someone I knew if they’d got to the door.

I stretched out my senses and found a fairy brain. Oh fudge.

I took the shotgun and checked the spyhole. Niall – in a nice suit, hair tied back neatly. Clearly the wards didn’t affect him, but at least he hadn’t just popped into the house this time. I called that I wouldn’t be a minute, and replaced the gun. I stood at the door and took a deep breath. I needed to keep my wits about me.

I opened the door, choosing a serious expression rather than a strained smile. “Niall, come in please.”

He took the hint and was serious too. “Good afternoon Sookie.” He kissed my forehead lightly in greeting, and I showed him to the front room. I fixed us drinks and cookies on a tray. No lemon. I sat on the other couch, setting some space between us. Once we were settled, I asked, “So Niall, what brings you here today?”

“That longer talk I said we would have.”

“I see. Go on.” I was determined to give nothing away, and to pin him down when I needed answers. Fairies had to tell the truth, right?

“I must tell you of recent events in the fae realm.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Will they affect me?”

“Perhaps. Much has changed in the last few decades, mostly for the better. Firstly, I–”

I raised my hand. “Wait. Decades?”

“Ah. Time does not always align between my world and this one. For millennia time ran more slowly in Fae, but while the portals linked our two realms together the difference lessened over the centuries. Time in the two realms eventually became synchronised, and has run as one for the last few centuries.” He brought his two fists slowly together in front of him to demonstrate.

“Uh-huh.” I nodded to show I was still with him.

“Unexpectedly, shutting the portals destroyed that alignment. Once the links were broken, it was like releasing a pendulum.” He moved one fist away, slowly at first and then faster. “My realm swung further away, and time began to accelerate there, a rebound effect we believe. A mere three years to you has been over a score for us.”

“Oh, I see.” I didn’t really understand how that could happen, but Niall did look to have aged more than I expected. I wasn’t gonna waste time puzzling over it; it wasn’t relevant to me. It wasn’t like I was going to be invited to afternoon tea over there.

“Yes. So, many things have changed in Fae. Not at first of course, things were much the same to begin with. Dissent and bickering continued, especially when severing our links to this world with its iron and toxins did not, as we all hoped, result in more births.”

I nodded, thinking of Claudine and her lost child with a pang.

“But eventually, after much debate and negotiation between clans, an accord was reached.” He paused, waiting for my response.

Okay, that was supposed to mean something… “Oh, the Water clan too?”

“Yes, my dear. There has been peace between Sky and Water clans for years. Peace throughout the Realm for the last decade of our time.”

That was great and all, but I needed to know for sure, especially after hearing about a fairy attempt on my life from Pam. “So I won’t be targeted by Breandan’s people again? You know they tried to get to me last year.”

“Yes. That was over fifteen years ago in Fae, at the very start of the negotiations. They thought to use you as a bargaining chip.” He flashed his teeth in a grim smile. “But their plans were exposed and it cost them political advantage.”

Uh-huh. Nice that he got something out of it. Trying to follow two separate time-lines was giving me a headache, but it didn’t escape my notice that Niall had had communication with this world. Not through his weird tomato postal system – the fairy mojo had worn off my garden a while ago, so I’d assumed he couldn’t reach me. I tried not to feel miffed that he had other avenues, but had chosen not to contact me.

“Okay. So everything’s rainbows and unicorns in fairyland. Got it.”

He frowned. “There are no unicorns in Fae. That is an Earth legend.”

“It’s just a saying. It means everybody’s happy. And no-one’s gonna be attacking me to get at you, right?”

“Ah. I see. Yes, you should not be targeted again. Especially with the reorganisation of our system of governance, which is what I came to explain today.” He hesitated, and looked uncertain for a second.

I tried to set him at ease. “Oh, did y’all modernise or something?” I said brightly, imagining tomato plants with voting slips and hanging chads.

“Modernise?”

“Um, like a constitution, voting?” My enthusiasm faltered. Yeah, it didn’t sound very likely.

“Ah. Not exactly. In fact we reverted to an older system. One in place before our civil wars, before the clans were united by force under one Prince.”

I couldn’t even guess what barbaric system pre-dated a monarchy based on ‘might is right’.

He looked at my grim expression and smiled faintly. “A ruling council, Sookie, with representatives from all the clans.”

“Oh. That sounds … fair.”

“Yes. It is a good system. All the clans have a voice, there is less resentment. I remained Prince at first while the council established itself, but I was so in name only. They have proven capable, and I stepped down a few years ago. The council is alone at the helm now.”

“Oh.” It was strange to imagine Niall, such a powerful figure, as retired. “Um, are you enjoying having more time to yourself?”

He blinked. “Ah. I am currently an Envoy to this realm. I have less political power, but I can act more freely. The council are re-establishing links here, a majority decision.” The set of his mouth indicated he didn’t entirely agree with that majority.

“Which portals are open? Who are they letting visit? Will I be able to see Dermot?”

He smiled. “I will tell him you miss him, but for now only a few are allowed through and only handful of portals in Europe are open. The council is being cautious.”

“Oh. So the portal here?”

“Will remain closed for now.”

“Oh. And is Dermot alright?” I eyed him carefully, he hadn’t always seen eye to eye with my great-uncle.

He shrugged. “He seems well enough.”

“And your other family?” I was curious, he hadn’t really told me much but I knew he had other children.

“Dillon has taken his rightful place as head of the Sky clan. He sits on the council and has married well. His wife, Magda, is with child.” I remembered Dillon, with his butterscotch hair, handsome like all fairies.

“Oh, congratulations. Is he excited to be a father?”

Niall seemed a little surprised at my question. “It is not his first, but this child will be significant. Magda is of the Water Fae; their union is politically important. Dillon’s woman was not pleased, but she understands he must do these things for the good of his people.”

“Oh. Well, I hope it goes well and he’s happy.” He didn’t seem to be concerned for his son’s feelings, reminding me forcibly that he was an ancient creature with an alien set of values. I really knew nothing about how fairy families or their society worked.

“And what of you, Sookie? Are you happy?” He moved closer, and reached out to touch my hand.

“Um, yes. FBI kidnappers and recent drama aside, things have been pretty good.” I smiled tightly. I wasn’t going to discuss my marriage with him, we just weren’t close enough.

“And your husband? Is his business flourishing?” he asked politely.

“Oh yeah. He’s doing great.” I felt I should brag on Sam a little. “He’s really established himself in Bon Temps. He’s a member of the local business association, and we’re both pretty active in the community, food drives and charity events through our church mostly.”

He stiffened a little, and I recalled that fairies had a less than positive response to Christianity. “And is he politically active at all? I hear the shifters and weres have a national caucus.”

I got the distinct impression local community work didn’t count for much with Niall, and bristled. “No. Neither of us wants to get involved in supe politics. We’re quite happy out of that. Both of us.”

“Ah. I see. Well, I’m sure the vampire will protect you regardless.”

That made me even more defensive, and suspicious. I pulled my hand out of his. Damn touchy feely fairy. “Did you ask Eric to protect me?” He looked amused and shook his head. “Good. I don’t need you encouraging him. I’m quite happy with Sam; I don’t want Eric butting in where he’s not welcome.”

He looked at me curiously for a moment. “Of course, whatever you wish. You are content with your shifter?”

“His name is Sam!”

“My apologies. You are happy though? There is nothing I can do for you?”

I opened my mouth to refuse him, and then closed it thoughtfully. “Actually, I need some information. You know Rory Kingfisher?”

“The … healer. Yes.”

“She told me I’m _joined_ to Sam. Some weird magic left over from using the Cluviel Dor.”

His eyes widen, and he sat straighter. “Really? That is most … unexpected.”

“Yeah. Dr Ludwig thinks so too. Are they right?”

He took my hand again, and closed his eyes. After a few moments he opened them and spoke.

“Yes, there is something there. I cannot tell you much beyond that. It is hard for me to sense; I do not have Ms Kingfisher’s gifts. I did not notice last time we met, I was focused on your health and the vampire’s blood.”

He thought it over for a minute. “Hmm. I do not recall hearing of anything similar. But knowledge about such tokens is obscure and shrouded in the mists of ancient fae history. Tell me exactly how you used it.”

“Well, Sam was fading. I felt him going and I just slapped it on his chest and willed him to live.”

“That’s all? Think back to that moment. Be precise. What exactly did you wish?”

I focused on that dreadful moment when I’d thought I was going to lose Sam. “For him to live, not to leave me. That’s all. I just said, ‘Live!’ and it worked.”

He sat deep in thought for a few minutes. “I will look into this for you. I will speak to Ludwig and the cr– Ms Kingfisher. I do not know if it can be undone.”

His concern made me anxious. “You think it needs to be? Is it gonna hurt me or Sam?”

He searched my face. “I don’t know. You did not intend it, either of you.”

“No. No, I guess we didn’t.”

He nodded decisively. “I must leave, but I will be in touch. It has been very pleasant to see you again, Sookie.”

“You too.” I gave him an awkward hug and saw him to the door. He walked into the woods, and I watched the trees where he disappeared for a few minutes, absorbing our conversation.

Both Niall and Miss Suntan were concerned about this join nonsense. Dr Ludwig seemed less so, but she thought there might be some link to the miscarriages. That thought alone made me want to pull it out by the roots

I shuddered and went back to the mail.

…

I didn’t feel like company that afternoon, or I might have taken the opportunity to find those guards and introduce myself. I certainly didn’t want to face whoever distracted Sam last night. I really hoped it wasn’t Thalia, she already knew too much about our private business. I distracted myself with a trashy magazine for a bit. Then I decided to relax in the tub with a good book until dinner.

I’d stepped out of the tub, wrapped myself in a towel and got halfway through combing out my hair, when a car pulled round the house heading to the back. Sounded like a truck.

My heart hammering, I shot out into the hall and heard someone at the back porch. I threw out my extra sense in a panic, than sagged against the wall in relief. Jason.

I heard him let himself in and call for me. “Back here, Jase,” I hollered.

He came round the corner from the kitchen. “Hey sis, how you been? I was on my way out to Hotshot to run tonight and…” He trailed off, eyes glued to my arm. “Motherfucker,” he breathed.

Shit. The bruises. “It’s nothing, Jason.”

He stepped up to me and took my arm gently. “That ain’t nothing, Sook. What the hell is going on with you and Sam?”

I pulled back. “Nothing.”

“Sook, I ain’t an idiot. I know things ain’t right between you, haven’t been for months.”

I swallowed. “I… It’s complicated, Jase. I don’t want you caught in the middle.”

He shook his head. “You’re my sister, Sook. I ain’t gonna be in the middle. I’m on your side. No matter what.”

Tears welled up and I swallowed hard. “I… thanks, Jason. That means a lot.”

“No problem, us Stackhouses stick together,” he said gruffly, blinking back his own tears and hugging me gently. “So why’d he hurt you?”

“Full moon, I smelt of someone else and he got the wrong idea.”

“Yeah?” He added cautiously, “And it was the wrong idea?”

I stiffened. “Of course! I would never–”

He put his hands up. “Hey, I’m not judging, Sook.” He frowned. “Was it another supe?” When I hesitated, he narrowed his eyes. “A vampire?”

I gasped. “How did you–”

“I heard he was yelling up a storm over at Calvin’s on Sunday. I asked Calvin ‘bout it last night. He said Northman is back and Sam’s riled up about it.”

“Oh.”

He looked at me. “I said Sam was an idiot. You just ain’t the type to cheat.”

“No.” I sighed. “I made a mistake though.” I decided he deserved at least the edited highlights. “It’s complicated. The short version is I got hurt real bad on Saturday, and Eric healed me. I bumped into him last night unintentionally, and I thanked him with a hug.”

He sucked air over his teeth. “You gotta be real careful of that stuff around the full moon, Sook. Don’t be smelling of other supes.” He looked down at the bruises again and his jaw clenched. “That don’t give him the right to lay hands on you though. You just be careful around him.”

“I’ll be fine Jase,” I reassured him. We said our goodbyes with another hug, and he headed out.

I watched thoughtfully as he drove away.

I’d heard his thoughts as we’d hugged.

He truly believed Sam might seriously hurt me: he didn’t know what was going on, but he felt Sam sure wasn’t acting like himself and that was scaring the hell out of my brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence in real-life relationships is never okay. Doesn’t matter what the person has done, no-one deserves it.  
> Remember Sookie is very invested in this marriage. She can’t see the wood from the trees right now.


	17. What Pam Did

I was just finishing the last donor when Pam returned.

She raised an eyebrow at the brawny male’s moaning. I hadn’t tempered my bite at all, which was a mistake as this one obviously liked pain. I would have glamoured him to be quiet if I’d known.

I sealed the bite and let go of him, catching his gaze. “You don’t remember me or coming here tonight.”

‘Here’ was a dingy apartment in an area where a few extra visitors after dark would not be noticed. Pam had arranged three donors for me tonight – all large men who could give generously. She assured me Stan could be trusted, and there would be no-one else at his ranch, but it was wise to be well-fed before we headed into Texas.

I licked my lips clean. Blood from the source was much more satisfying than the bagged blood I’d been forced to rely on lately.

Pam asked, “Are you ready to leave?”

I held up a gloved finger as I dialled Rory.

She picked up on the second ring. “Need something Eric?”

“I will be out of the area for a few nights. In case you wished to drop by unannounced.”

She ignored my frosty tone, and answered breezily, “Oh, that’s fine. As long as you’re healing normally.”

I rolled my eyes at Pam. “I am.”

“Take that cream. Have fun.” She hung up without asking for details. Good, she couldn’t take offence when I told her it was none of her business. It might have been amusing, but I didn’t have time.

“Thalia?" I asked Pam.

“She’s is in place.” Bon Temps, back to guarding Sookie, in case anyone planned to take advantage of Pam’s absence.

“Good, let’s go.”

…

Soon Pam’s Audi was eating up the I20 to Dallas. Airline bookings could be discovered: driving was safer. And Pam said she was accustomed to the three hour drive.

Thanks to my incapacity we hadn’t discussed my time in Oklahoma in detail, so I filled her in on the political intrigues while she drove.

I started with the attempted bombing, ending Grace and my suspicions of Jean-Luc and Boscombe. I explained how Freyda and I had collaborated to investigate them, but later I found out that during that time she suspected my association with Nikolai and believed I was plotting with Texas. I speculated that Freyda had met with Nadia’s lawyers to negotiate their marriage during my frequent trips to Tulsa to spy on Boscombe, although I didn’t catch a whiff of that, literally, until much too late.

I described how Jean-Luc and Freyda had framed and disposed of Nikolai. Once he was gone, Freyda allowed me to meet with Isabel with minimal supervision: giving me enough rope to hang myself. Freyda must have been spying on us, looking for evidence of my supposed treason.

I glossed over Freyda’s wedding to Nadia, instead telling Pam about the sniper, Yasmin, and how I managed to plant the bug and get a warning out. Then I detailed the final attack, the use of fae blood, and how Boscombe set me up as the scapegoat using Wallace.

I kept my darkest theory to myself: that Nadia had engineered my forced relocation to Oklahoma, and maybe even Freyda’s takeover. I wanted to see if Pam had independently made a connection between Nadia, the contract and Ocella.

She asked a few questions when I’d finished, and spent a minute or two absorbing it all.

“Well, only you could land in a pile of shit that big and come up smelling of roses,” she drawled.

“I nearly didn’t come out of it at all, Pam. I have you and Karin to thank that I did.”

Unspoken mistakes hung heavy in the air. I should have investigated the motives behind Freyda’s offer more thoroughly, but I’d taken it at face value and focused on escaping it. And normally I would not have traded access to Pam, Karin and my resources for anything.

What was done was done. “Your turn,” I prompted.

“That first year was so boring. I supervised the Fangtasia revamp,” she smirked at her pun, “and hand-picked guards. Panthers stink worse than wolves, but Norris is a decent packmaster.”

She continued. “That first winter the sheriff conference was buzzing with the spat between Wisconsin and Michigan.” I nodded. She’d mentioned their ridiculous posturing in our online conversation courtesy of Russell.

“There was also a dispute between a sheriff from Georgia and the one for Chattanooga. A minor thing, but Tennessee was being an ass about it. I bumped into – you remember that little French tart of Franco’s, Eva?

I dredged my memory. “The brunette? She was turned?”

“Yes. By Franco, before he met that stake he so richly deserved. She remembers you very fondly.” She smirked at me. “She was with the Georgia party, but we had a little … tête-a-tête. She told me Alabama was building strength, making Georgia wary. She was fishing, trying to find out if Alabama had gone to Amun for approval to take Georgia I assume, but I hadn’t heard anything. I didn’t think much of it at the time.”

“It was reasonable of Georgia to be wary. Nadia covets power. Alabama and Georgia share a border, uniting them would have given her a strong kingdom.” Even if Georgia was Moshup.

“Yes. Since de Castro’s coup, nobody rules out hostile takeovers across Clan lines. The only other thing of note at that conference was that several sheriffs commented on how cunning you were to marry such a young queen.”

Luckily for me the more unfavourable details of the contract were confidential. It wouldn’t be wise for de Castro to let his retinue know that he’d played me to rid him of Victor and then sold me out, betraying both of us. Better for de Castro if they suspected I had removed a power-hungry threat on his orders and was rewarded with Oklahoma. Consequently it was only Area 5 vampires who knew I’d been… less than happy to leave.

“They thought it a good strategy?”

“Yes, gossip in Amun back then was that you’d made an astute power grab.” Her mouth tightened, and then she shook off her distaste. “The only other interesting thing in that first eighteen months was that Texas approached me.”

She hadn’t mentioned it when we spoke thanks to Russell. “Personally?”

“Yes. We met twice. Discretely, of course. He was interested in Freyda and I point-blank asked him why. He was honest, I think. He thought Freyda unpredictable, over-ambitious and that with your reputation as a wild card, she might do something stupid.”

I snorted. “It would have been suicide to take on Texas.”

“Yes. I told him you would never support that … unless you meant for Freyda to be ended in the attempt.”

I blinked. Ah, _that_ was treasonous. That was why Pam hadn’t mentioned it. Plausible deniability if I wasn’t told. “What did Texas make of that?”

“He was amused, and thoughtful.”

I frowned. He didn’t know I couldn’t take the state if Freyda died. “You let him think I would take Oklahoma.”

She shrugged. “Yes, if Freyda became … difficult. I thought planting that seed might be useful.”

I nodded. “So, what about after we spoke?”

“I heard Freyda treated you like a dog in Kansas.” She looked murderous for a minute. “But some said that was a ruse and you held the reins. Hence Oklahoma’s sudden success in negotiations – Freyda was not known for that.”

“No. She wasn’t patient enough.”

“Karin had to return to New York for six months after her year here, but not long after we spoke Oskar released her. She was free to do a little digging.”

“With Oskar’s resources?” We didn’t always see eye to eye, but he held Karin in high regard and would have helped her for that reason alone.

“Yes, I believe so. She took a discrete trip to South America. Brazil.”

Ocella had spent time there. “What did she find out?”

She looked grim. “Your sociopathic maker had antagonised a human drug baron. He owed him money. Gambling debts. He borrowed from several vampires to pay them. The local vampires were keeping a low profile, so when Alexei left a trail of bodies as well…”

“They were run out,” I finished grimly. Brazil was Catholic and ambivalent towards our kind, but lawless enough for vampires to survive if they were discrete and didn’t upset superstitious, tight-knit communities. Alexei was a disaster waiting to happen there.

“Yes. Karin was not particularly welcome. She had difficulty getting information until she told them Ocella and Alexei had been ended. She found out that the drug baron had probably been glamoured to set Ocella up for big losses. The locals thought it may have been a transient who disappeared right after the human was killed in a shoot-out with a rival gang, and a pile of his ill-gotten gains went missing.”

“Did she get a description?”

“Male. Swarthy, dark hair. Maybe five centuries. Called himself Eduardo. Faking a Portuguese accent quite well, but not well enough to fool a local who was originally from Lisbon.”

That didn’t fit any Oklahoma vampire, or any I’d seen in Nadia’s retinue. “No idea. I take it you checked the database?”

“Yes. In fact Karin took a copy with her.” She side-eyed me. “Interestingly, someone down there remembered another American visitor asking about Ocella.”

“Who?”

“Our very own Bill Compton.”

I found I wasn’t all that surprised. “The trip to Peru. He talked about those ruins far too much.”

“Yes.” She anticipated my next question. “I don’t trust him with anything … damning.”

“Are any of the Brazilian locals in the database?”

She shook her head.

I knew he’d added some entries when he returned from Peru, but clearly none that linked him to the side trip he’d made into Brazil. He certainly hadn’t added Ocella, but he must have discovered he was my maker, and that information …

I looked at Pam. She was stone-faced. “Who did Bill tell in Karin’s and your opinion?”

“Felipe, possibly. Bill had no direct contact with Freyda that we could prove. Although Felicia was around long enough. Karin became … close to Bill while she was in Bon Temps that first year.”

I grimaced. “If she fucked him for information, spare me the details.”

She pulled a face. “She didn’t share, thank fuck. She always favoured them dark. She was curious about him, things that didn’t add up. He was doing very well financially. Too well, considering he’d reached market saturation, and rival databases were popping up. He was travelling frequently.”

I shifted in my seat. “You think… he was selling information.”

“Or extorting money in exchange for keeping vampires off his records.”

“That is a dangerous game.” A profitable one, though. Bill was ambitious, hard-working, but young enough to need money and contacts. It was a good strategy for him. But, if he wasn’t careful, the interplay of favours and secrets could generate enemies in the murky underbelly of vampire society. I was relieved that Sookie appeared to have steered clear of him. I’d anticipated Felipe might use Bill to get close to her, but Bill’s clandestine venture would expose anyone close to him to worse threats than my former king. “Is that with Felipe’s knowledge?”

“Unclear. Bill is favoured when he visits Vegas, according to Bubba.”

Hmm. If he was in Felipe’s pocket… “Has he shown interest in Sookie beyond normal?”

“None at all. They rarely speak. He hasn’t visited her house since you left.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Strange. They had seemed quite close back then. I doubted he’d lost interest, but I put that aside. “So did Karin’s little vacation uncover anything else?”

“Ocella’s finances were pitiful.”

I grunted. He had always preferred manipulating people to get what he wanted – business bored him. I braced myself for disappointment. “What did I cost Freyda?”

“A million up front to clear his debts. More afterwards, and probably a safe place for him and Alexei to lay low, with a supply of donors no-one would miss. The bitch was spared that further expense by his final death.”

I swore softly. Pathetic. A million for a century of my time, let alone everything else it did, and could have, cost me.

I simmered for a few minutes before asking, “Texas has proved a useful ally?”

“Oh yes. He called me at once when he heard Freyda's place had been infiltrated by human bombers.”

I nodded. Nikolai would have informed him.

“Stan hinted the Chosen might be a cover for someone else, but we had no idea who. We'd concentrated on the Ocella angle up to then, hoping for loopholes to void the contract. Not threats to Oklahoma. Karin suspected Stan at first. She called in some favours, visited some old friends, asked discrete questions. I couldn't travel freely so I focused on Felipe.”

“And did either of you find anything?” I'd be impressed if they had when I hadn't.

“Well, not on Felipe. Stan gave us remarkably detailed information. The one who tipped you off – Grace Dubois?”

“Yes. What did you find?”

“Nothing concrete. And not about her, but her blood sibling, Peter, ended in Oklahoma fifteen years before. The feud–”

“With a vampire in Dallas at that time, yes. Gregory Stone. He left not long afterwards; Isabel confirmed it when I asked.”

“Karin found him.”

“Really?”

“Yes, in Michigan.”

“And?” She was deliberately drawing this out. Payback for teasing her over Rory yesterday.

“Rasul made the introductions, so this Gregory was very forthcoming.”

“Pamela,” I growled, “Spit it out.”

She smirked. “The feud was over money this Peter stole from Gregory – you knew that?” I nodded. That was the story in Lawton. “But did you know that Gregory had another reason to end him?”

“No, I did not.”

“This Peter went under several aliases over his four centuries. He sometimes worked as an assassin, and he ended an ally of Gregory’s in Austria, two centuries ago.”

“I see.” Grace would perhaps have known nothing about that, being much younger than Peter.

“Yes. Gregory told Karin a very interesting snippet. This ally of his was spying in Spain for France. He fled to Austria, taking a human. A human who belonged to another vampire.”

“Nadia.” I said softly. She’d been out of sight two hundred years ago, but she had strong links to Spain. And it would be like her to send an assassin if someone dared to take what was hers.

“Probably. Gregory only knew that it was a powerful female, close to the former King of Granada. And the human had been badly treated. So we had a very tenuous link from Nadia, through Peter who’d worked as her assassin, to his blood sister Grace.”

“And with the information from Eva…”

“… red flags were raised, all pointing to Alabama. Yes.” Her eyes glittered with malice. “The delayed Amun conference was held in Iowa last November. I took Maxwell. He’s not well known, and very … inoffensive. He scouted for gossip about Nadia. He didn’t find much – she plays her cards close to her chest, that one – but we were lucky. One of Kentucky’s retinue had loose lips. He’d fled Oklahoma when Freyda took over. Maxwell got him talking about computing, and then he badmouthed Freyda to hell and back. Ranted on about the glory days under the former king Darius, and let slip that Alabama had been sniffing around him, but Darius was too classy for her.”

“So that gave you another link from Nadia to Oklahoma.” I was inordinately proud of them both.

“Yes, but we had no idea why Nadia would covet Oklahoma instead of Georgia. True, Georgia was a tougher target, but also more of a prize. Under Darius, when Oklahoma was strong, a marriage alliance would have made some sense. The state was weak after Freyda took over, but Nadia didn’t strike while the iron was hot. Why would she wait until you were in place? But then Karin found out from Oskar that Ocella ended Nadia’s maker and remembered that business with the fae, that Nadia had had a vendetta with you.”

Here it was. The point at which my clever, unrelenting children came to the same conclusions I had. “And you deduced…”

“That you being there encouraged her to switch target to the weaker state. She hoped to end you along with Freyda– the cherry on top of the takeover.”

Ah. Not quite the same conclusions. “She does know how to nurse a grudge for centuries.”

Pam nodded grimly. “But a few weeks later, Mississippi passed on your message, and Nadia’s marriage to Freyda threw our takeover theories into disarray.”

The message I sent to Bartlett…“Mississippi?”

“Bartlett has a secure line to him. And Russell had secure ways to reach me.” At my raised eyebrow she added, “That time, Herveaux. The wolf happened to be in Jackson and had no idea what he was asked to courier.”

“He has his uses.”

“Yes.” She hesitated. “You performed the ceremony?”

I nodded.

She hissed. “I wish I’d had chance to perform a very painful ceremony on that bitch Freyda.”

“The consummation was more painful than the ceremony.”

“Fuck a zombie!” She was so startled the car swerved. “You… She …” She swore like a sailor for five minutes. Better she got it out now, not at the trial. Nadia would say something provocative if she had a chance.

When she was calm I asked, “Stan agreed to deliver your reply to me?” I was curious about their relationship.

“I was desperate. There was no-one else at the Zeus summit I could trust. I have his personal number so I rang. It wasn’t a secure line, so the message had to be innocuous. He was dubious because I wouldn’t tell him what was going on, only that he’d find out soon enough.”

“His Norse was atrocious.”

She chuckled, “And that was after I made him practise. He called me back at dawn to tell me you had Kansas and Nebraska green with envy.”

“Idiots.”

“Yes, not the most astute pair.” She frowned, and I felt an echo of anxiety in our muted bond. “I was grateful. I needed to hear you were coping. Karin was spitting tacks. She wanted to come to me straight away, but she managed to wait a month so it wouldn’t be obvious. We were determined to force Freyda to release you.”

“I should not have given you both up so cheaply.”

She shook her head. “You did what you had to, Eric. I wouldn’t wish Sookie dead, or worse.”

“No. But it cost us.” Neither of us voiced the price: Karin. So much more than blonde and good in a fight.

She pulled out and overtook a particularly annoying truck, opening the throttle and really driving the car to its full for a stretch. Once she’d been soothed by its throaty roar, she began again.

“The marriage put the cat amongst the pigeons. Or rather, the kings. Felipe called me the next sunset to inform me with great relish that you’d been ‘cuckolded by a woman’ as he put it. I faked surprise and outrage. If he hoped I’d give something away, he was fresh out of luck. I fed him the usual: the expected bitterness that you’d cut ties with me for a blood bag.”

Ruefully, I wondered if that bitterness wasn’t so hard to fake. “Did he buy that?”

She shrugged. “Perhaps. And then Teresa actually came to Shreveport.” At my raised eyebrow she explained. “She usually has me come to Alexandria alone. She’s wary of entering Area 5.”

Ah. A legacy of Victor’s death. “What did she do?”

“Oh, reviewed the books, touched base with my retinue, and planted more bugs. The usual. And then she questioned me about Alabama’s plans.”

“Felipe was rattled.”

“Yes. As was Texas. He turned up before Karin.”

“He came to Area 5?”

“Uh-huh. Incognito, naturally. He assumed I might have more information than his sources, direct from the horse’s mouth – from you. I told him you’d warned me briefly and nothing further. He was appropriately sympathetic. After Karin arrived, one of Mississippi’s pretty boys dropped by.”

“Nice to be popular with so many kings.”

She grinned wickedly. “Oh, I wasn’t the one popular with _Bernard_ … but he was very enamoured of those old Fangtasia calendars.”

I groaned.

“He reminisced about a certain evening in Jackson, and the pleasure of your skilful–”

“Pamela. Enough.”

“Too easy,” she chuckled. “Bernard offered a mutual exchange of information on his king’s behalf, and I agreed. Russell was threatened by Alabama’s presence on his border, even with Indiana’s considerable protection. Everyone was disarmed by the second marriage. No-one could anticipate Alabama’s next move, and with Oklahoma’s newfound strength behind her own…”

“They were desperate for insight.”

“Yes. That gave me and Karin some leverage. She went back to New York, made sure to be seen around the Big Apple and then with Oskar’s help faked an assassination attempt. It was put about that she’d lost an arm. Especially to the spies Alabama had placed there.”

My eyes widen. “Karin was being watched?”

“For some years. She’d been aware of it, but not that it was Alabama. She’d become adept at evading it, and using it to spread misinformation. Once everyone thought she was lying low to heal, she left. She spent the last six months out of sight, shuttling messages between me, Texas, Mississippi, Indiana, Eva and eventually Georgia.”

“I see. That’s quite a network.” Impressive.

“Yes. Caution all round at first, but Bartlett gained Karin’s trust and it built from there until we were confident enough to share everything we knew about Alabama. All the signs pointed to her preparing for war, but her target was unclear. We all agreed she had to be stopped, because the south needs stability. We’ve had too much unrest already under human scrutiny.”

“Hence you planned for battle, and sent your message in August.”

“Yes. You liked the runes.”

“Yes, ingenious.” I opened the bond momentarily to send her my pride.

She smiled a little. “Stan was sure she wouldn’t move before January, so we planned for mid-winter.” She frowned slightly. “We held back on Ocella’s role and what Karin found out in Brazil at first, but …” She hesitated uncharacteristically, and glanced at me.

“Bartlett knew Ocella. He already knew that Freyda was my maker’s choice, not mine.”

“Oh.” She relaxed. “Yes, that’s what gained Karin’s trust. He was … sympathetic to your plight.”

I stiffened, remembering the unwanted _sympathy_ in his eyes. She waited for me to relax again.

“Stan was also aware of … your lack of enthusiasm for the match. I don’t know how, perhaps from his spies inside Freyda’s palace.”

“Pamela. Half the continent will know I was sold off against my will soon enough. If you shared that to gain allies, so be it.” Better my reputation than my neck, but I didn’t bother to hide the bitterness. Felipe at least had reason to doubt my loyalty and remove me, but it had hurt my pride deeply to be treated like a chattel by Ocella at my age. After I had earned his respect, or so I thought.

She added softly, “There’s more.”

“Continue.”

“In September, Karin was invited to New Mexico.”

I frowned. “His attack on Felipe…”

“A complete coincidence. They have a long-standing rivalry. I have no idea how New Mexico knew Nevada would be vulnerable to an ambush in his own territory.” Her eyes danced with mirth for a second and I understood it was no coincidence at all. Then she was serious again. “Karin had a sketch made of ‘Eduardo’ in Brazil. She carried it with her. One of Tezcatlipoca’s retinue knew our friend Eduardo from Chicago last century, and he went by Rick Spinelli then. But he’s not Italian, just good at accents. He’s from Seville.”

“Ah.” The final piece. I relaxed. Nadia sent him to trap Ocella.

“You’re not surprised.”

“No. Freyda would never have agreed to marry Nadia without me as consort to protect her. Nadia needed me there and she knew how to manipulate Ocella.”

“Fuck. What a clusterfuck.”

I shrugged. “I think it is also quite likely that she arranged for Freyda to get the throne in the first place.”

Pam's eyes widened. “Really?” Her hands clenched on the steering wheel. “That's some fucking complicated plan.”

“Yes. Perhaps Darius turned her down one too many times, and the dominoes lined up to give her revenge on him and me both.”

We drove in silence for a while. I was contemplating Nadia's sticky web when Pam began again.

“We kept Felipe in the dark until recently, not trusting his alliance with Freyda. You know she was paying him?”

“No. I didn't.” Compensation for loss of a sheriff was not unexpected: Felipe would be a fool not to negotiate a tidy sum even if he’d wanted me gone.

“Oh yes. Fifty grand a year for the next fifty years. A nice bonus.”

“Indeed.”

“Your recording gave us proof of Nadia's plans, and confirmation that Felipe wasn’t part of them. We needed his co-operation to protect Louisiana, so Karin took him a copy. He was angry, disbelieving. Teresa came to me, demanding explanations. Felipe didn’t trust Karin, or me. He didn’t want weaken Arkansas or Nevada to protect Louisiana. He was spread too thin.”

“Still? After three years?”

“Trouble in Narayana. Las Vegas attracts the greedy. Teresa is the only one of significant age he sent here. New Orleans is populous again, but they're all cannon fodder.”

“I see.” Felipe had wolves at the gates. Ironically, it didn't help Felipe that Victor, and his strongest fighters, were gone.

“Three nights after Halloween, Russell hosted a teleconference in an attempt to persuade Felipe to act. Russell was anxious not to be sandwiched between two states under Nadia’s control. Karin and I listened in, unobserved. Stan, Bartlett _and_ Felipe: too many egos. Felipe felt harangued, cornered, did not want to co-operate. The arguments could have gone on for months. But when we felt your call a few nights later, Bartlett got serious.”

“How so?”

“Bartlett reasoned that you'd been discovered and Nadia would move the attack up. He gave Felipe an ultimatum. Co-operate, or they'd let her take Louisiana. All Bartlett asked Felipe to do was reinforce, defend Louisiana, and release me to go with them. Bartlett told him they needed me to find you for more evidence against Nadia.”

“So Felipe did not take an active part in removing a threat to his states?' So much for the forward-thinking cunning vampire I'd been willing to serve. His back must have been against the wall.

“No. He still suspected a trap, and wasted time arguing. Then it took days to get everyone in place without discovery. Felipe sent a defensive force to New Orleans and released me” she snorted, “probably hoping I would not return.”

“Who was he under pressure from?”

“New Mexico and Arizona: old enemies. The Californias were allies but they fell out over some Hollywood business deal last year. He made millions at their expense.”

Ah. Caught by his own greed and ambition. “Hmm. Strange that his Clan encouraged him to take Louisiana. It's as if they wanted his attention elsewhere.”

“Yes, it is, isn't it?” We grinned wolfishly at each other.

“So it was Stan and Russell who attacked in Oklahoma?” I remembered only vague details from that night.

“Yes. Bartlett reinforced Mississippi, and turned up in Oklahoma himself when things had settled. Russell and Stan led a small, fast strike force to take Nadia from the palace. Simultaneously Georgia moved into Alabama with a subduing force. There was some bloodshed, but he kept it minimal. Georgia is holding the state pending possible reallocation after Nadia’s trial.”

This level of co-operation between four royals was unprecedented. And not one had taken the opportunity to take a state in the confusion. I reflected on everything Pam and Karin had achieved. Impressed, I let her feel my pride and gratitude, and wished Karin was here to feel it.

She looked at me seriously, catching my longing. “Karin and I made a pact to free you. We knew the risks. You blocked most of the pain from us, you know. When we got to the palace, you were so faint…” She looked away for a moment. “She believed you would be gone before I reached you. She vowed to take revenge.”

“I will do the same for her.”

“Good. You were so weak I could barely track you, and it was just as bad when you collapsed at Sookie’s. I couldn't feel you from Alexandria. I sent Thalia to my house as I drove up, but she found it empty. Sookie's was the only place that you would go voluntarily, but I couldn’t sense your location. I had to cross over the Red River to keep my options open.” Her voice caught, but she carried on.

“Only when the night guards called me did I know for sure you’d gone to her. I didn’t know if you were still there. The guards couldn’t get in and I couldn’t trust them with you in that state anyway, and Sookie wasn’t answering the phone. From the time I felt you–,” her voice caught, “felt you disappear, until Sookie finally called me I had only a faint hope that you still lived.”

I could feel echoes of panic and fear from her as she relived it. Coming so soon after losing Karin, and what happened to me in Oklahoma… This whole thing had shaken her deeply.

“You were careless, Eric. Selfish after everything we did to free you, after Karin.”

She was right. I should have risked waiting for Thalia, or thought of another way… I said stiffly, “I couldn’t let her die. I was not thinking clearly.”

She snapped, “No. You never do with Sookie.”

I could feel grief and anger from Pam, and her eyes were red. Shit.

“I did not mean to …” What? Behave like a fool over a woman who wasn’t even mine? No, I had chosen to do that, and I couldn’t take it back. I didn’t mean to hurt Pam.

“It’s nothing,” she snapped, roughly brushing a tear away.

I closed our connection gently, giving her privacy, and looked away while she composed herself. There wasn’t anything I could say.

After a while, I changed the subject. “Why did Russell owe you a favour? You never said.”

“Oh, I didn't? That's an amusing story.” Good, it would lighten the mood. “You remember that weasel-faced shithead, Harry Jacobs?”

“The East End thief, yes?” He’d stolen from her nest about sixty years ago. She’d recovered most of her stolen jewellery, but not before one of her favourite necklaces was broken up. I wasn’t sure whether it was that she held a grudge over or the nest mate he killed. Fortunately for him, he fled to another state where he had protection, but she hadn’t forgotten.

“That was a mockney accent, Eric. He was from Surrey.”

“Ah.” English dialects were not my forte.

“To tell it short,” she sniffed mockingly and wiped her eye, her fake distress ruined by her fangs running out, “sadly our ‘Arry is no more, guvna.”

I chuckled. “Did he die screaming for his ma like you promised?”

“Oh yes. I’m surprised you couldn’t hear him from Freyda’s place. He made the most pitiful excuses, then he begged and finally screamed so loud when he saw Thalia draw her sword he didn’t even see the stake in my hand.” She chuckled.

“How did you catch him?”

“I’d gone for a run out Caddo Lake way, and I caught his scent near the border. Gave Stan a ring, he had no problem with me hunting in his territory. Our ‘Arry thought he was safe over the border. He had swag on him, so once I’d imprisoned the snivelling idiot I took it home. Didn’t look at it until the next night, and there was a lovely Rolex with an inscription. A gift from his husband that Russell was grateful to get back, along with a recording of that little snake’s screams. Stealing from kings is never wise.”

“Russell was very grateful.”

“Yes, he was. Having to tell Bartlett his gift had been stolen by that idiot would have been … embarrassing. So, quid pro quo Eric, how did you get away from Freyda to speak to me?”

“Very funny, Pam.”

She raised an eyebrow.

I didn’t appreciate her teasing this time. “You already know.”

She frowned. “No. Russell didn’t say.”

I glared at her and said icily, “I’m sure the gossip reached you.”

“I swear I don’t know Eric. Gossip about what?”

She seemed genuinely puzzled. I groaned quietly and resigned myself to telling her. “Bartlett and Freyda finalised a deal at the summit. She drove a hard bargain on the price, and he and Russell asked for a sweetener.” I paused but she wasn’t smirking.

“And? I don’t–”

“Me.”

She blinked. “You? How – That fucking bitch pimped you out for a business deal?”

I winced. “Yes.”

She fumed silently this time. She was really pissed. Her jaw tightened before she spoke again. “Did Russell actually need me to track you?”

Ah. She assumed our allies hadn’t trusted me as unconditionally as she’d thought. “Yes, he needed you Pam. It was a ruse to get me away. We didn’t actually fuck, let alone exchange blood. Freyda would have noticed that.”

She looked at me. “Truthfully?”

“Yes. Russell actually brought me a rather talented donor.”

“They really are in love,” she mused.

“I believe so. There were no rumours? There was plenty of talk in Oklahoma.”

“Nothing reached me.”

Hmm. Perhaps nobody dared tell her. Or Russell and Bartlett had kept it quiet. I pondered over that for a while, until I noticed the quiet suburban neighbourhood we were entering. Just as I was about to ask where the hell we were, Pam slowed the car, and turned into the driveway of a nondescript family house.

She reached for a remote, and the garage door opened, and closed after us as she pulled in. She popped the trunk, and got out to pull out her bags. I joined her to collect mine and looked at her quizzically. “The ranch?”

She grinned. “Everyone assumes he means his actual ranch. Come.”

She shut the car, and led me through a side door. We emerged in the back yard, next to a fence. She chuckled at my confusion, and pushed open a fence panel. “In case I’ve been followed.”

She led me across three gardens, and then to the back door of another average family house. One with an impressive but discrete security system, and a ward I sensed as we crossed it.

Pam put down her bags and straightened her skirt before she knocked quietly on the back door. She gave a wave to the camera above it and the door opened.

Stan caught my scent at once and stilled in the doorway. I nodded respectfully. “Your majesty.”

“Stan. May my maker join us?”

He looked between us and drawled, “This isn’t quite the ménage I had in mind.”

She smirked. “You assumed. Bite me.”

He smiled fangily back at her. “Come in.” He stepped aside to let us enter, and then closed the door. Pam headed down the dark hallway, obviously at home, but I waited politely for directions.

“Welcome to my house Eric.” His eyes glittered with amusement. “Or is it Leif tonight?”

“Ah. An alias, merely to avoid complications between our rulers at the time.”

“Of course. I would have done the same, to keep an eye on … an investigator.”

“Of course.” I ignored his hesitation and bowed politely. He nodded, and directed me to a light tight guest room in the basement where Pam had just finished unpacking. She looked up as I came in. “We’re sharing.”

“Fine.” I knew why she wanted to rest with me: she was still rattled. I would indulge her. For now.

I unpacked after she left, and then went upstairs to find them both in the lounge. Pam was setting up a laptop on the coffee table. I took a seat opposite Stan and he sat forward suddenly, staring at my bare feet. “You’re healed already?”

“Mostly.”

“How?”

“A favour from the fae.”

He looked suitably impressed. “Their favours usually come with a silver dagger in the back.”

“Yes. I need to keep this quiet, especially from de Castro. Who is attending the trial?”

“Russell, Bartlett and myself. Georgia is sending his second, and Louisiana will be represented by Felipe’s regent, Teresa Genetti. Iowa, Wisconsin and Ohio are presiding for Amun. Kansas, Colorado and New Mexico will be here for Zeus, and to deal with the Oklahoma throne. And as two clans are involved… I assume you want to attend?”

I nodded.

He thought for a minute. “There might be a way to keep your recovery from de Castro, but I will have to involve the panel. Are you willing to be called as a witness?”

The trial would surely damage my reputation anyway; appearing could hardly make it worse. “Yes.”

“I’ll see what can be arranged.” He turned to Pam as he stood. “I have to leave in two hours.”

She nodded. “I’ll be right down.”

After he left, she picked up a data stick from the table and inserted into the laptop. “I asked Stan to bring this. I thought you should see it.”

She turned the laptop to face me, and squeezed my shoulder on the way past.

Well, it would be a distraction while they fucked. I hit the play icon on the video file, and immediately recognised the lobby of Freyda’s palace.

…

I barely acknowledged Stan’s goodbye. Pam sat down next to me, drying her hair with a towel. “Play it for me,” she said softly.

I’d watched the whole thing through twice, the footage from the lobby half a dozen times.

Pam leant into my shoulder as we watched Freyda’s guards form a line across the base of the stairs to protect their queen behind them.

Karin mowed through the centre of the line with her sword, leaving the rest of the guards occupied with other attackers. She was magnificent, completely focused and single-minded. Freyda backed half way up the stairs, holding a dagger and a stake, but she was no match for my eldest child.

The stupid bitch taunted Karin with graphic details of my torture, yelling I would be ended if Karin didn’t back down, but Karin ignored her. Silently she drew a dagger. A weapon in each hand, she feinted and circled, toying with Freyda as she became increasingly desperate. Then Karin attacked, viper fast, and severed both Freyda wrists so quickly that she could only scream in rage and pain.

Karin dropped her sword and threw herself on Freyda with a roar. She tore into the struggling queen’s neck and drank from her. It was an old insult – to drink a vampire as if they were prey – and Karin loved to kill those she didn’t respect that way.

She hurled Freyda to the bottom of the stairs with a yell and jumped down after her, snatching up Freyda’s stake from the floor.

“Go to hell, bitch.” She smashed it into Freyda’s chest and the Queen of Oklahoma crumbled to ash.

…

We watched Karin’s glorious regicide several times, complimenting her technique, her footwork, her sword play.

After the fourth time I allowed the footage to run on.

When it cut to the ballroom and the brawl with Nadia’s cornered forces, I put my arm around Pam and she leant into me.

From the footage I knew Russell was elsewhere in the building, mopping up the Oklahoma forces who were surrendering. Stan and Isabel were in the ballroom, with a force of a dozen. Jean-Luc was subdued in silver, but there was no sign of Salvatore or anyone else form Oklahoma, only Nadia’s fighters, who were older, more experienced and putting up stiff resistance.

A blur of blonde hair flew into the melee, and took Karin’s shape as she fought one-on-one with a female. The fight was hard-won, and when Karin took her opponent’s head, she was wounded; a deep slash to her right shoulder. She deftly switched her sword to her left hand, and moved seamlessly to the next opponent between her and Nadia.

Stan was fighting towards Nadia from the other side, and Isabel was circling, picking off opponents where she could. Nadia yelled out a command, sending two of her vampires hurtling towards Stan, pushing him back. Stan was hard pressed and Isabel moved to protect him, hurling a dagger through the moving bodies towards Nadia as she did. It hit Nadia a glancing blow to the shoulder, drawing blood.

Nadia roared in anger, distracting Karin’s opponent for a microsecond, long enough for her to place a killing blow. As Karin leapt over his disintegrating corpse, a Texan vampire to her right ducked a flying piece of broken furniture thrown by one of Nadia’s vampire. It arced through the air and my gut clenched in denial, like it had each of the three times I’d watched, but nothing could stop the hurtling piece of wood. Everything slowed down as its trajectory met Karin’s blur. She froze, perfectly visible for an instant, an ugly red stain spreading around the broken chair leg planted in her back.

And then Karin sank to her knees and disintegrated.

Isabel howled from Stan’s side and dispatched the male in front of her in a flurry of blows. She drew a stake from her hip and took a split second to aim at the tall vampire who had inadvertently delivered Karin’s final death. She threw with fatal accuracy, hitting him square in the heart.

We watched to the end in silence, the few remaining fighters surrendering and Nadia, bloody and in silver, spitting and struggling.

Pam said with quiet bitterness, “She never saw it coming. A fluke.”

“She was fearless. A chance blow can fell the strongest. This is the way of it. She died well.” I flooded our bond with gratitude as I kissed her forehead. “Thank you for asking Stan for this.”

She wiped a tear away. “Dawn is coming. Let’s go to rest.”

I switched off the laptop and followed her down stairs. We got ready for the day in silence, and I ignored the second bed, climbing in with Pam and pulling her to me.

She curled into me, and I opened the bond again. Grief and comfort flowed back and forth between us in slowly ebbing tides.

Just before dawn, she said softly, “I felt the echo of her death from you, just as I found you.”

I closed my eyes over my tears, and answered with barely a breath. “I was too weak to sense it.”

It was the one pain in a mountain of agony that I needed, wanted to feel.

I should have had the raw, visceral pain of her death, not merely its ghostly echo from a cold, unfeeling screen.

Karin deserved that.


	18. Nightmares

_It was dark._

_I couldn’t move. My shoulders were pinned down against a hard surface underneath me, and my legs were trapped under a heavy weight._

_Something snarled quietly close to my ear, and, as though a door had opened to my right, dim light spilled across a wooden floor towards me._

_Light glinted off sharp silver teeth right above me._

_My heart thudded._

_No. No, not again._

_I twisted violently but I couldn’t break free. The vicious fairy, a regular participant in my nightmares, cackled and held me fast. Its shape began flickering silently, just like that weird shifter in Tyler._

_Its features finally stabilised. I stared up at my new foe in horror: a monstrously huge pit-bull drooled over me, panting heavily. I’d always been wary of that breed. I could see its bloodshot eyes focus on me, and as it began to growl, I grabbed its neck._

_I struggled to keep its jaws away from my face, pressing my fingers desperately into its soft fleshy throat. I thrashed and fought wildly as it began to flicker again._

_The dream became a long exhausting battle with bewildering parade of predators, both real and fantastic. Every time I got a hold on one form, it changed into something worse._

_A vicious snapping jackal lunged to tear at my face, but missed as I grappled with its jaws._

_A lion rumbled deep in its chest, the vibrations echoing along my arms, braced against its chest to hold it off me._

_A man-sized bat blotted out the light its huge wings, leaving only its fangs visible, glowing white against the darkness. When it lifted its head to bite the arm I’d thrown across my neck in defence, the light fell across Longshadow’s face, and a second later it was Felipe’s as the wings morphed into a cape._

_Wolves in quick succession: black, grey, white, each howling loudly and lunging at my face or my neck as I held them off with pieces of broken furniture snatched from the floor around me._

_My arms were on fire, my breath rasping. I couldn’t last much longer._

_A huge grizzly crushed my legs into the floor. My hands scrabbled for grip in its thick fur and I gagged as its hot fetid breath hit me. Its snuffling muzzle reshaped rapidly and became Sam’s face, inches from mine and strangely distorted, his eyes glowing green and wild._

_I kicked desperately, rolling us across the floor. I tried to yell his name as Sam snarled at me, hoping he’d recognise me, but I couldn’t catch my breath and no sound came, only a blinding pain as he clamped his teeth down on my shoulder._

I sat bolt upright in a tangle of sweaty sheets, gasping for breath and my heart thumping.

It was the fourth nightmare to wake me and the most vivid so far. I breathed deeply and slowly until the roaring in my ears faded. The room was still dark and I reached for my phone to check the time. Too early. Shit. I’d never get back to sleep after that doozy.

I stretched, working a kink out of my shoulder. There was no bite mark. My subconscious had interpreted a pulled muscle as something sinister.

I needed coffee, desperately. Bathroom first.

…

The kitchen was chilly; the sun hadn’t risen. I snuggled deeper into my robe, and warmed my hands on my coffee, dry-eyed and grim.

The nightmares all ended with Sam hurting me. Every single one. My subconscious was screaming at me, loud and clear.

And finally, I was listening.

The bruises looked even worse this morning, and they were sore. What the Sam Hill was I thinking yesterday? That it was okay for him to lay his hands on me over a stupid misunderstanding, just because he was my husband? Just because it was full moon? Again, what was I thinking? Sure, I’d been raised to respect marriage, but not to be a doormat.

This had to stop.

I deserved better.

Sheppard of Judea, I was planning to cook his favourite meal to make it up to him, to make up for him almost using me as a punching bag. A sort of sick, twisted apology, a bribe to stop him being angry with me – when I hadn’t done anything wrong. I should be the one spitting mad.

All day yesterday I’d been in a shocked daze, in denial. I didn’t want to accept that Sam had been a whisker away from really hurting me. I’d made excuses for him.

I’d even managed to ignore that I spent the whole night terrified he’d return, and that by yesterday morning I was as jittery as all get out, jumping at every sound. Heck, I about had a panic attack when Jason arrived last night, thinking it might be Sam.

That was not right. I shouldn’t be afraid of my own husband. I shouldn’t feel unsafe in my own home. I wasn’t some meek housewife, scared of her own shadow.

I was Sookie Stackhouse, and I damn well knew how to stand up for myself.

It was about time I did.

I snagged my purse off the chair next to me, and pulled out my lists. The rough one was on top, and my eyes fell straight on a phrase in the middle of it: Sam = safe. A thought from last week echoed hollowly: _he was warm, safe, my haven from it all._

Shit. That was so far from true right now it wasn’t funny.

The bedrock of our relationship was crumbling right out from underneath me.

I swallowed and looked at my plan, the one that hadn’t accounted for Sam becoming violent, the one that seemed too thin now to paper over an earthquake’s worth of cracks. I would never have dreamed he was capable of…

Uneasily, I remembered Dr Ludwig’s questions about our fights, and Pam’s comments about shifters. What did they see that I didn’t? They didn’t even know Sam that well. I’d known him for years.

What happened to the gentle man who sat at this very table yesterday, with these lists in his hand and tears in his eyes?

I rubbed my face and got up to refill my cup. I sipped the hot coffee and stared out of the window into the half-light. Everything looked flat, grey and surreal. Pretty much how I felt.

The gravel was badly rutted, casting shadows in the low-angled light. It needed levelling. Jason’s truck probably added to the damage last night, he’d been agitated when he left. Hearing him say he’d stand by me no matter what had been comforting, but it illustrated perfectly one reason why I’d put off dealing with my failing marriage for so long: everyone was gonna get sucked into the drama.

But I’d passed the point of no return, and drama was unavoidable.

I sighed and turned away from the window.

I sat at the table again, shuffling the lists idly. Quinn’s name caught my eye, next to the word territorial. Damn shifter crap, washing sheets and clothes to get rid of scents. My mind wandered to Jason urging me to be careful around the full moon, his fear that Sam would hurt me.

There was something … a connection just snagging the edges of my awareness, tripping up my thoughts. Snarly thoughts about Sam … not Jason’s…

Calvin!

Yesterday at Merlotte’s, Calvin had an almost identical thought to one of Jason’s last night: _something was off about Sam, more than the full moon._

Maybe they were right. Maybe it was more than the full moon, more than normal territorial shifter behaviour.

Over the last year or so Sam's moods had been increasingly unpredictable and mercurial. I'd thought more than once that Sam was out of sorts, not himself, but I’d dismissed it. Now I’d been practically smacked in the face with it.

He _had_ been behaving differently. And I wasn't the only one to see it.

The question was why. Prolonged stress? Grief? The unfulfilled desire for children? Unhappiness? I winced, knowing he couldn’t be happy with the way things were between us. I certainly wasn’t. Maybe that was it. It was all the stress and emotional fallout from an unhappy home life.

I froze in the act of raising my coffee cup and groaned, almost slapping my own forehead.

I was an idiot.

The damn ‘join’.

Selfishly, I’d been upset it could be influencing me and my feelings for Sam, without even considering how it might be affecting him. I hadn’t spared a thought for what it might be doing to my husband of three years.

My concerns about it had been totally self-centred. I chided myself sternly for not thinking about Sam.

What had that know-it-all healer said about it?

It was very powerful, and something about it ‘pulling’ on him. Who knew what that meant, but it didn’t sound good. Poor Sam. However well-meaning my actions had been in saving his life, they’d clearly had unintended consequences. Big time. And it was my fault, something I’d caused. I needed to own that.

If that was what was screwing with my husband, I had to find out for sure and find a way to fix it.

I owed him that.

…

I was showered, dressed and breakfasted in plenty of time. I figured nine was a respectable time to call. Amelia would have dropped her son off at day-care, and I doubted the little store she ran with Bob would be overrun with customers this early. I fidgeted and watched the clock, giving it a few minutes longer before I dialled.

“Sookie?”

“Hi, Amelia, how are y’all? I’m sorry to call so early. Is this a good time?”

“It’s fine, I’m at home today.” Amelia sounded cheerful, but she yawned loudly. “Sorry, late night.” She’d mentioned they’d finally found a good sitter, and I wondered if Bob had taken her out somewhere nice.

“How’s the little monster?” Her son was firmly stuck in the ‘terrible twos’ and a bit of a handful.

“Fine, fine. Terrorising day-care I expect.” Oh, I’d assumed he’d be home with her, but I guess maybe she wanted some peace. “So Sookie, what’s up?”

That was Amelia, straight to the point. “I need a favour. You remember I asked you about that _special locket_ of my Gran’s?”

“The – oh, what’s-its-name – something _door_ wasn’t it?” She picked up I didn’t want to bandy the name about.

“Yep, that’s the one. Can you find out anything you can about it for me? And, I know this sounds weird, but anything about a, um, fairy thing called a join?”

“A join?” she asked in a much more business-like tone. “That term specifically?

“Yes, I think so.”

“Can you give me any details? What context was it used in?” She was assuming I’d _overheard_ something the way only I could.

“Um, a join between two people, I guess.” I didn’t want to say more, as it was she’d probably work out the two questions were connected and put two and two together to make a dozen questions to ask about Sam and me. I didn’t want to get into a long conversation about all that now.

“Okay. Anything I can find on the _locket_ and anything on that specific term. I can’t promise results. I don’t have much on the fae, and they’ve always been a secretive bunch, but I have a couple of old grimoires and a source or two I can ask. Do you need the information urgently?”

“Um, I need to know, but I wouldn’t want to put you out Amelia.” I was a little taken aback by her abrupt change of tone. Normally we chatted, swapped gossip about our lives, husbands, her son and mutual friends. This was Amelia the efficient businesswoman and it was odd to hear her using obscure supernatural terms with familiarity – I was fairly sure ‘grimoires’ were books, but it was hardly a common word.

“Oh, it’s alright Sookie. I’ve got nothing on today or tomorrow, and I’m up to a little reading and a few phone calls.”

“Okay, if you’re sure it’s no trouble.”

“None at all. I’ll give you a call back soon.”

I thanked her and we said our goodbyes. I stared at my phone thoughtfully.

It was odd she was off work for a few days midweek, when she was so proud of her store. I realised, again, how little I knew about a friend’s life.

We hadn’t spoken about her coven or her talents in years, not since she re-warded the house. I knew her store carried harmless New Age goods, books and crystals and curios, but I suspected it catered to real witches too, and I knew Amelia. She was too proud of her ability to stop using it, even if it had got her into trouble in the past, at poor Bob’s expense.

She was obviously still very active in the supe community, but I hadn’t really given that a lot of thought. She came up to visit now and again, with the baby and Bob, and seeing her with them I’d unconsciously painted her as a wife and mother. Not that she wasn’t both those things, but she was more. I’d sort of forgotten that.

But I’d automatically thought of her first when I needed another source of information. I wasn’t going to rely solely on Niall. Although we’d had our differences in the past, I trusted Amelia at least as much as I trusted him. I would use every resource I had to find out what was going on. For Sam’s sake.

It felt good to be doing something proactive.

…

I was in Merlotte’s bright and early to find a note from Sam on my desk. It was terse, if you can say that of a note.

_In trailer. Be over later._

He normally slept real late the day after a run. I could go wake him up, but I figured we’d just end up fighting again, and I was in charge until four. It was hard work running the bar at the best of times; it was no fun on top of the emotional strain after a fight. If it was cowardly not wanting to face him right now, I didn’t care.

I sighed. It used to feel wrong if Sam and I were at odds, but lately … I was desensitised to it. My new normal.

I spent the day in the bar proper, knowing if I tried to do bookwork shut up in the office I’d just dwell on everything. I kept myself busy, chatting to customers and finding make-work when it was quiet. Cleaning out the salt cellars, dusting behind the liquor bottles and idly redesigning the menus in my head got me through most of the day.

By five o’clock, there was still no sign of Sam. I’d resorted to tidying shelves in the stockroom. The after-work crowd would be trickling in soon to relieve the boredom of a quiet Wednesday afternoon. I was almost finished when the door suddenly jerked open and Penny stuck her head in.

“Sookie, you’re needed out front.” She was a little out of breath, but I didn’t think anything of it.

“Sure, let me just re-stack…”

“You best come now,” she interrupted in an urgent tone. Something was wrong; she was usually real respectful, wouldn’t say boo to a goose.

“Okay.” I abandoned the boxes and followed her hurriedly.

I didn’t need to ask, or read her. As soon as I was out in the corridor I could hear a commotion from the bar, and a wall of excited impressions hit me. Jason. Me. Sam. A wolf. A dog. It was all jumbled, but as I emerged from the back corridor, I saw half the customers were gathered by the windows overlooking the parking lot, craning their necks to see…

I got a clear image, and shot across the bar, threw open the front door and was outside before I registered that Eric's blood was responsible for that burst of speed in response to my alarm. Now I was outside I could hear Catfish yelling at Jason and I rounded the parked vehicles quickly to see exactly what I feared over by the road that led to the back of the bar.

Jason and Sam beating the tar out of each other.

Shit.

I took in several things at once. Catfish was trying to hold Jason back. Kevin, in police uniform, had just grabbed onto Sam’s arm, but Sam threw him off and went back at it, leaping at Jason. Past them, a bit away, I vaguely registered a patrol car parked haphazardly, its doors wide open. Kenya was jogging over from it towards the brawl with something in her hand, her uniform muddy and rumpled.

I might have joined in with Catfish yelling for them to calm the eff down, but I didn’t think they’d actually be able to hear me over him and Kevin, and their own shouting. What I wouldn’t give for a hose right now. Or a bucket of water, although I might be tempted brain them both with it after I’d emptied it over them.

Kenya waved for me to hang back, so I slowed my furious march towards them. Kevin nodded to her, and they made a co-ordinated lunge for Sam as he dodged away from a wild punch thrown by Jason. Kevin had Sam pinned momentarily and Kenya slammed whatever it was in her hand into the side of his neck. He snarled and shook them off again, and I could see his body tense, preparing for a shift.

Shit, he was full shifter and stronger than Jason. Plus his shift might trigger the Jason’s so soon after the full moon and no way did Jason need half of Bon Temps to witness him losing control during a brawl. Not everyone knew he was a bitten were, he'd only told a handful of people that he trusted. For good reason, people were still uneasy around twoeys. He wasn't registered either.

I was still yards away, so I called out to Sam, but he didn’t react beyond shaking his head like he was shooing a fly. I switched tactics and yelled at Catfish to drag Jason out of there. Kenya had circled round, and she came up alongside Catfish. Between the two of them they got a good hold on Jason and dragged him backwards.

Sam stepped forward to follow, but he staggered. He shook his head again, and swayed.

Kevin grabbed the back of his shirt and heaved him backwards. Sam stumbled, tripping over his own feet, and then slumped back into Kevin’s grasp. Kevin locked his arms around Sam’s chest and lowered him to the ground.

He was out cold.

By the time I came to a halt in front of Jason a second later, he had stopped struggling, the fight going out of him now Sam was down for the count. Kenya let go of him and went over to help Kevin.

“Jason Stackhouse, what the hell are you doing?” I hollered, hands on my hips, ignoring his split lip and the large bruise beginning to swell on his check. “You ain’t a goddamn teenager anymore. Michele is gonna kill you.”

“He started it!”

“Are you twelve? I don’t care who started it, I don’t expect to find my brother and my husband killin’ each other in the parking lot!”

“He had it coming. He shouldn’t have–”

“Jason,” I hissed, cutting him off as I got a clear picture of my bruises from him. “Mind your business!”

He opened his mouth again and I glared at him, very aware of the two officers behind me hanging on our every word. I was tempted to kick him in the shin, but he finally caught the fire in my eyes and realised I was about to give him a few bruises myself. He snapped his jaw shut, and scowled back. Well, he could just take a damn number and get in line.

I turned on my heel and met Kenya’s shrewd gaze without a flinch. She could speculate all she liked; I wasn’t airing my business in the parking lot in front of the busybodies still crowding the windows for gossip. Kevin had rolled Sam over and was cuffing him.

“How did you put my husband on the ground, Kenya? What did you do to him?”

Kenya watched me for a second more before she shrugged. “It's a tranquillizer, that's all.”

I stuck my chin out. “Is it safe?”

“Yep. He'll be out for 'bout an hour, wake up thirsty is all.” _Real useful, stops them shifting._

I narrowed my eyes. “You use that on everyone? _Fair and equal,_ right?” I infused a healthy dose of sarcasm into that phrase: it had been the slogan for the registration campaign, the one that reassured twoeys they’d still be treated the same as ‘ordinary’ citizens.

Kenya's mouth tightened. Kevin stood up and said calmly, “You rather we let him shift and tear your brother apart? Or one of us? Assaulting an officer’s real serious…” He let that hang in the air for a beat. “I'm real sorry Sookie, but we gotta take 'em both down to the station, give ‘em a few hours to cool down.”

He was genuinely apologetic. And he was right, if Sam had shifted… It didn't bear thinking about. I reluctantly accepted fair and equal was hard to stick to for human cops dealing with stronger and faster twoeys, but I was suspicious. I'd never heard of law enforcement using tranquillisers on shifters, and I was getting an odd vibe off Kenya.

I listened in. She didn't want me to push the issue… because it was her personal weapon, not sanctioned by the Sheriff’s department. Uh-huh. That sounded decidedly iffy. I kept my reaction to a minimum and asked an innocent question as I focused on her. “Is that a new thing, the tranquilliser?”

“They been using it in Nola, and over in Dallas for a year.” _Not here – that idiot Andy would rather replace the damn coffee machine than try something new that might be useful on patrol. Hell, I know we don’t have much call for it, but it’s cheaper than silver bullets and it won’t kill anybody. That’s important in a close-knit community like ours._

I was relieved. I liked Kenya, and I didn’t want to find out she was prejudiced. She didn’t have a grudge against twoeys; she just wanted the best, safest tools for the job. Sure, she was bitter these days, but that was down to losing the sheriff election two years ago. Lots of people had pledged to support her, including me. I'd voted for her, but it turned out folks round here promised gold and delivered straw. She got fewer votes than she deserved, and just missed out.

When Kevin had tentatively suggested maybe Bon Temps just needed to adjust to the idea of a woman sheriff, they'd had a massive argument. They hadn't spoken for months after that. I'd seen it in his head one night when someone asked why they weren't partnered up anymore. They went back to partnering each other eventually, but things weren't the same between them. Kevin tried his best, but Kenya was a changed woman. Less trusting, more cynical, and he didn't know how to fix it.

Neither did I, but I had my own problems. Two of them.

“Are you gonna charge these two fools?”

They exchanged a look, and Kevin got the short straw. He shrugged. “Probably not. Maybe a fine.” He glanced at Kenya again, and braced himself. “We gotta report Sam though, seeing as he’s on the register. No way round it.”

I stiffened. Fair and equal, my ass. Somebody was using the register to monitor stuff like this shit; it’d be a black mark against his name. Yeah, that was meant to protect plain ole humans by identifying ‘dangerous’ twoeys, I got that. But it wasn’t fair – especially as Jason wouldn’t face the same consequences and he wasn’t exactly plain vanilla. He wasn’t ‘out’ or registered, and even if he was, bitten weres were treated as victims because they were usually unwilling. Like twoeys born that way had any choice, but since when were people logical in their prejudices.

Now it was getting out that being bitten could change you, some people thought that was great idea. Yeah, they saw it as their chance to be ‘special’, but they didn’t realise being bitten didn’t make you special in the eyes of other twoeys, just inferior. Being bitten made them outcasts in two communities. Jason was lucky Hotshot was more tolerant.

This stuff was a moral maze, and it gave me a headache. It was much easier to know what to do about the situation in front of me.

I scowled at Jason as Kenya cuffed him. “See the trouble you’ve caused.”

Jason frowned. “Sook, I didn’t mean for it to get physical.” _If you can hear me sis, I called him on what he did to you and he got real mad. Said I had no business interfering, and came at me. Thing spiralled from there._

I pursed my lips. I just bet my hot-headed brother didn’t stop to think that today wasn’t the best day to confront Sam. Time of the month an’ all. And I bet Jason was about a tactful as a bull in a china store about it too.

He gave me a pleading look. “Can you let Michele know? I was supposed to be home soon.”

I threw my hands up, exasperated. “That’s why you can’t go getting into stupid fights anymore, Jason. You have a wife and kid waitin’ on you at home.”

“Please Sook?”

“Fine,” I muttered. “Don’t expect me to soften it. Y’all be safer in a cell tonight once Michele finds out.”

He grinned weakly at me. “Thanks, Sook.”

I watched Kevin and Kenya man-handle Sam into the back of the patrol car, and Jason meekly got in up front. Catfish stood next to me as they drove away.

Quietly he said, “I saw the whole thing. Ain’t never seen Sam like that, he just lost it. And you know Jason don’t know how to back down from a fight.”

All I got from him was concern. He’d heard enough to suspect Sam had laid hands on me, but he wasn’t judging. Just worried for me. I didn’t know what to say. “Sam’s… not himself right now. He’s real stressed.”

Catfish nodded. “You know we got your back round here.” He was remembering staking Twining when he attacked me, thinking numbers gave them strength, enough of them together could stop Sam. “You look after yourself Sook.”

He walked off to his truck without another word.

…

Michele was predictably blunt on the phone. “He can damn well wait until we’re fed. I ain’t rushing over there. Let him stew until I’m ready. And I’m gonna tear so many strips off him, he’s not going to have side to lie on.”

“Okay. I’ll probably see you down there later, if Kennedy can cover.”

Kennedy was my next call. She could come in once she’d eaten, thankfully. I braved the gossip with a fixed smile until she arrived, Danny in tow in case things got lively once word got around. The last hour had left me itching to slap the next person who commiserated with me just so they could fish for juicy details. If I had to say it was one of those stupid arguments guys get in to one more time…

Kennedy could see I didn't want sympathy and did exactly what I needed her to do, quietly and calmly getting to work so I could leave.

I escaped to the office, got my purse out of my desk, and slumped in my chair for a moment, rubbing my temples. My phone vibrated in my pocket.

It was Michele. “I just spoke to Kenya. She said I should come by about eight to take out the trash.” She sounded pissed, but resigned.

“Okay. I guess I'll go home and grab a bite.” I sighed. “I'm real sorry about this Michele.”

She snorted. “It ain't your fault you got all the common sense in the family, Sook. Don't worry about it. I've got to go, get Junior settled before the sitter gets here. No way is my baby seein’ his father in jail.”

“Thanks for the heads up, see you at eight.”

I dragged myself out to my car, and headed home.

…

I was distracted when I got out of the car, but I felt a void in the trees behind the house. I turned, and Thalia emerged silently from the shadows, stepping slowly into the light from the security lamps.

She stopped about ten yards away and nodded to me respectfully.

I groaned internally, and tried not to let my frustration show. “Thalia. What is it?”

She took that as permission to approach, and moved closer. She was in jeans and a denim jacket tonight. I noticed her necklace, identical to the one Pam had shown me. She had it turned off at least. “Sookie. The day shift would like to meet you.”

“Oh, I was about to–”

“It will only take a minute, they're about to leave.”

I suppressed an eye roll. “Fine.”

She turned her head a little and let out a soft whistle. I felt two tangled were brains flicker into existence on the edge of my awareness. Two figures came out from the trees into the light. One was a woman with short dark hair, dressed in good quality outdoor gear, and the other was a young man, in jeans and flannels. He had a familiar look about him.

The woman smiled a little. “Nice to finally meet you, Mrs Merlotte. I'm Margaret Pickard, from Long Tooth pack, and this is my partner, Jack Norris from Hotshot.”

She offered her hand and I took it. Her grip was firm, assured, and she was thinking it would be easier to guard me if I knew who they were. Jack lurched forward awkwardly to do the same. His hand was clammy, and he was nervous, thinking: _don't screw this up; the pay is way better than anything else I can get_.

He smiled shyly at me. “Glad to see you in one piece, Mrs Merlotte. We were sure worried 'bout you Saturday night.”

I blinked. “You were here?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Margaret was serious. “We heard you fall from the woods.”

“Oh.” I looked between them. “I guess I should be thanking you for calling for help for me then.”

She shrugged. “Just doing our job ma'am. I couldn't get hold of Mr Merlotte, so we tried the Sheriff. She was out of touch, and her maker took charge in her place.”

“Of course he did, he's a take charge kind of guy,” I muttered.

“He got here just in time. I was monitoring your breathing and you were beginning to deteriorate.”

“Uh-huh.” She believed that, but if it had been otherwise I wondered if she'd be so eager to tell me. Ultimately he was the one paying her. Wait, I remembered something I needed to ask. “Do you know how he got into the house?”

She frowned. “He used the spare key under the pot on the porch.”

“I meant … You know about the wards right? How did he get passed them?”

She and Jack exchanged a puzzled look. “I assumed… We heard him arrive, and when we came round the house he was at the front door already.”

“Oh.” Maybe I needed to check Amelia didn’t leave any back-doors in the wards. I mean, Eric had paid for them indirectly through Pam. Buyer’s privilege? “Well, thank you. And I guess thank you for putting yourself in harm's way for me these last three years.”

She grinned. “No problem. I've missed the action ever since I came out of the army.”

“Um … Miss I just started last week, so I ain't done anything yet, 'cept make a few phone calls for you.” He was so earnest I gave him a reassuring smile.

“I’m real glad you were here to make them, Jack.”

Margaret shook her head at him. “Come on Norris, Mrs Merlotte hasn’t got all day to chat.” She nodded to me. “If you need anything ma’am, don’t hesitate to holler. We’ll hear it.”

They disappeared off into the night, leaving Thalia frowning at me. I opened my mouth to say she could go, but she held her finger up for me to wait. I guess she was making sure they were out of range.

“Some of us can enter a house if a child of our blood has an invite.” She waited for that to sink in.

“Oh. That makes sense.” Well, in that I hadn’t rescinded Pam’s invitation from the night before Eric blew through like an avenging angel, saving my life and leaving a trail of complications behind him. That he could enter a house if Pam could didn’t make a jot of sense to me, but it occurred to me that Ocella hadn’t needed an invite while Eric had one either.

“That is not widely known,” Thalia cautioned me.

“Understood. Thanks for telling me.” I should be pissed at her for stirring trouble up between Sam and me the other night, but I had too much on my mind to deal with that tonight.

She nodded. “We will leave introducing the night shift for another time.”

“Fine by me.” She took off at full speed. That had gone surprisingly well. I sighed, knowing the rest of my night was not going to be so pleasant, and went inside.

…

I was emotionally drained by the time I pulled up outside the jailhouse.

No sign of Michele’s car, but I was a little early.

I headed inside and spoke to the officer on the desk. He was new, real young, covered in freckles with a shock of strawberry blond hair, and named Robert Lawson appropriately enough.

I took a seat and waited for Kenya or Kevin. The plastic bucket seats were uncomfortable, and there was nothing to do but wait. The place smelt of stale coffee, cigarettes and despair. I wished I was at home; this place was full of bad echoes of the past.

After about five minutes, I heard a car pull up and Michele came in looking grim. She spoke to Robert, who disappeared into the back, and then she came to sit with me.

“I hope you’re not squeamish,” she whispered. “Jason is about to get his.” I smiled weakly at her.

Kenya eventually emerged with Jason, in cuffs and looking sheepish. “Does this idiot belong to one of you?” Kenya asked.

Michele stood up and settled her purse on her shoulder. “Nah, you can keep him here.”

Jason gave her puppy dog eyes, his play for sympathy enhanced by his battered face. But Michele wasn’t buying it and she scowled at him so ferociously he stepped back. “Don’t be mad, honey,” he pleaded, raising his cuffed hands in front of him.

“All that’s waiting for you at home is a chainsaw and a large pond.” His eyes widened, and she crossed her arms, turning away in disgust, only to wink at me.

Kenya sucked air in over her teeth. “Ma’am, I didn’t hear that.” She lowered her voice and added, “You might want to rethink the pond. We’d have to dredge it if he went missing.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want you to waste resources on this dunderhead. Maybe I could fake a car crash. He’s got life insurance.” Jason paled, and looked between them.

Kenya scowled at him, and whispered, “Make sure no-one else gets hurt, and I’ll make sure the report is believable.”

“Yeah? How about I bash his head in, roll the car into the river? That work for you?”

Jason gulped and began to stutter… “Sugar, honey, you know I get carried away sometimes. Don’t be mad. I’ll do the dishes…” he took in her scowl and added quickly, “and the laundry. Hell, I’ll fix that screen door you’ve been on at me for just as soon as we get home.” He gave her his patented get-outta-trouble face.

Michele snorted. “Not enough Jason. Not nearly enough. I had to get a sitter, Junior was wailing, missing you, and I’m not up to this drama myself…” Oh, nice guilt trip by the pregnant wife. She was a pro at this.

“Shit. He settled though right? Are you okay? I’ll make it up to you baby, I promise.” He flushed slightly, “I’ll, um, I’ll do that thing…”

“What thing?” Michele had an evil glint in her eye.

“You know …” She looked blank and he gulped. “That thing you like…” He was beetroot now and I was holding my sides, muffling a giggle. Hell, I didn’t want to know what Michele liked that Jase of all people was embarrassed about but it was sure funny seeing him blush. “Just don’t murder me for the life insurance, think of Junior honey.”

At that we finally burst out laughing. Jason looked between the three of us– even Kenya was chuckling – bewilderment all over his face.

Michele shook her head at him once we’d settled down and sighed heavily. “Jason if I was planning a murder, would I be talking about it here?”

“What? You were joking? Hell, that ain’t even funny, woman.” He attempted to sound pissed but he mostly looked mighty relieved.

She snorted. “No it ain’t. Neither is two grown men having a fist fight, or what I am going to do with you when we get home.”

Kenya winked at me. “And that, I didn’t hear.” She chuckled again, and finally unlocked his cuffs. “Remember what I said Stackhouse.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He was still looking warily at his wife.

Michele sighed, “Let’s go. And don’t think you’re sleeping anywhere but the couch for a week.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He was very subdued.

They left, and Kenya glanced over to the desk. Lawson nodded and disappeared again leaving us alone. She sat down on a seat next to me, watching me closely.

“Jason and Sam usually get on just fine. You have any idea what made them come to blows?”

“Nope.”

“You sure about that Sookie?” she asked quietly. “This is off the record. I won’t make it official unless you want that.”

I stiffened. “When I need your help, I’ll ask for it.”

Her eyes narrowed, but her voice was sympathetic. “Of course, if you need anything…” She reached out to pat my upper arm and even though I was wearing the thick sweater I’d had on all day, I flinched automatically. The tricky bitch!

She gave me a knowing look and I stared her down angrily. “I’d like to take Sam home now, if you don’t mind.”

She sat back, and set her jaw. “He’s staying the night.”

“What! You can’t do that. You just let Jason go. And Sam needs to run tonight, it’ll kill him being trapped indoors.”

“Mrs Merlotte, settle down. We know how to deal with twoeys. He’ll be given a sedative, and he’ll sleep through it. He agreed to it, in return for there being no charges, nothing put on record with the Bureau. We’ll release him tomorrow morning. I think it would be best if he had more time to cool off. For everybody. ” She gave my arm a significant glance.

“I want to see him.”

“You can have five minutes.”

She led me back to the cells, and a wave of awful memories hit me once we got there. I stopped for a few seconds to push away the shame and humiliation. It was in the past, I was here for Sam. He needed me.

He was in the last cell, sitting with his head in his hands. I could relate.

He shot to his feet when he saw me. “Sook, you shouldn’t have come.”

I looked at Kenya, and she took the hint, moving to the other end of the corridor and pretending she couldn’t hear. I moved right up to the bars. Sam joined me and I reached through to hold his hand. His knuckles were bloodied. We began a whispered conversation.

“Are you alright?” He was angry with himself, with Jason. Guilty, confused, remorseful.

“No. I’m not.” He swallowed. “I don’t know what came over me. Or last night. I’m so sorry Cher. I just… I just keep seeing red.”

I blinked back tears. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is, Sook. I got to take responsibility for this. I fucked up.”

I shook my head vigorously. My voice was thick when I could finally speak. “No, Sam. It’s not your fault. Trust me, it’s not.” I just couldn’t tell him why, not here.

He frowned at me. “What are you saying, Sook? Whose fault is it then?”

“Mine,” I whispered, closing my eyes. I couldn’t bear to look into his.

“Why’s that Sook? Did you do something I should know about?” His voice was louder, and his grip on my hand tightened painfully as I felt his jealousy and rage rising. I opened my eyes to meet his hot stare and tried to pull away. Kenya cleared her throat in the background, and he released me.

“Sam, it’s not what you think. Forget about Eric, please. He has nothing to do with this.”

He stepped right up to the bars and muttered darkly, “He better not.”

“I can’t explain now, but I will fix this. I will. Trust me.”

He looked at me coolly. “I’ll trust you as much as you trust me.” He was bitter again.

I sniffed. “Please Sam, seeing you in here is hard enough.”

He softened a little. “Don’t worry Cher, it’s not the first night I’ve spent in a cell.”

“It isn’t?”

He smiled a little. “I was a wild kid.” I gave him a weak smile back.

Kenya coughed again.

“I think that’s my cue Sam.” I reached through the bars and gave him a quick hug as he did the same.

“I love you,” he whispered.

I replied softly, “Me too.”

I walked out without a backward glance, holding my head high.

I didn’t stop until I was by my car. Then I stood and wiped the tears off my face. I stared bleakly into the dark.

How could I explain to him that I’d been warned the Cluviel Dor was not to be used lightly, that it always had consequences? How could I tell him I didn’t understand how it worked or how to use it properly, and even though I’d managed to save his life with it, I might have called into being some powerful, dangerous magic between us? And maybe that was what was causing him to act crazy.

Something I’d set in motion had Sam firmly in its grip, and I just knew it was twisting and shaping him into doing things he had no control over, that he abhorred, that he would never do if he was himself.

This was all my fault.

That inescapable irritating little voice whispered that I’d only said yes when he proposed because everybody expected me to, that I would never know if I would have married him under my own steam, that I’d just gone with flow and that what Miss Bronzer had shown me proved that I didn’t love him.

 _Maybe,_ it whispered insistently, _he wasn’t the only one with no control, doing things they wouldn’t normally. Maybe the magic had influenced me to marry him, to stand by him even when things got so awful between us._

I couldn’t tell him that. It would crush him.

Then an even more unsettling whisper wormed its way into my mind. _Maybe the magic was the reason he stuck with me beyond all reason, when I couldn’t be a proper wife and give him the child he wanted so badly. Maybe it was the reason_ he _loved_ me _._

I shivered in the cold air, suddenly feeling very alone.


	19. Trials and Interrogations

Pam paced Stan’s bland living room, as she had been on and off for the last half hour. We were waiting for word, and she was not feeling patient.

Her phone finally rang, and Stan immediately asked for me. Pam tossed me it wordlessly.

“Your majesty,” I answered.

“It’s arranged. You will have to testify, tonight at the preliminary hearing, but otherwise I will be able to keep you out of sight.” We both knew there were no guarantees. Nevada would hear something of my attendance from the ever-grinding rumour mill, but with luck I could fake infirmity and Felipe would find it difficult to believe I’d healed so quickly anyway. And he would be focused on his own pain and healing.

“Has Cataliades arrived?” I’d contacted him before we left Shreveport. He made some suggestions, and insisted on attending. I got the distinct impression he was still most upset that he hadn’t caught the loophole that meant Freyda could commit bigamy without releasing me, and he was trying to make up for that.

“Yes.”

“Good. When and where?”

“Have Pam drive you to the parking garage under the conference centre. Someone will meet you there at eight sharp.”

…

Pam pulled into the parking garage, and immediately an employee directed her to an out-of-the-way poorly lit loading area. A nervous young man in a valet uniform was standing at the ready, and a familiar figure was waiting in one of the service elevators, holding the doors open and speaking into an ear piece.

Pam grabbed her purse and got out. I waited in the back behind the tinted windows as she scanned the area, and then moved when she gave me a signal after she handed her keys over.

I blurred past the startled valet and into the lift, Pam right on my heels. Jephson let go of the doors instantly and pressed a button. He must be here for the trial at Stan’s invitation, chosen to meet us because I knew him. He glanced at my gloved hands, and took in the way I was leaning heavily against the wall. His face tightened minutely, but he nodded respectfully. “Northman.”

I returned the gesture. “Jephson. This is my child Pamela Ravenscroft.”

They exchanged nods, and he smiled faintly. “Didn’t recognise you without the blood.”

Pam looked at him coolly. “None of it was mine.” Awkward, if some of it came from his Weres…

He shrugged. “You scrub up well.”

Pam graced him with a slight smile. She did look fantastic, dressed to the gills in designer labels. She’d insisted I wear my most expensive suit. One Freyda had bought, sadly. But we didn’t look poor.

The elevator dinged, and Jephson ushered us out, along a deserted service corridor, and through a door flanked by two Were guards. The dark room inside was an observation booth, long and narrow, with a window filling the wall facing the door. The blind was down, but light split around its edges. Another Were sat at a long desk under the window, cluttered with electronics, sound equipment and monitors. Jephson dismissed the Were with a look and he left wordlessly. Jephson took his place and flicked a switch, filling the space with a nasal voice expounding on some legal precedent. He flicked another switch and the blinds began to rise.

“That’s one-way,” he gestured at the glass. “You can watch unseen from here.”

I stepped forward and found myself looking down on a large room set up for the trial. Indiana and Mississippi were in the audience, and I recognised Eva sitting next to a stocky vampire who I assumed was Georgia’s second. I was faintly surprised to see Bill Compton sitting at the left front, directly behind the pontificating lawyer. The sultry brunette to Bill’s right had to be Teresa Genetti, Louisiana’s Regent. The lawyer with the unfortunate voice must be Felipe’s.

I was surprised at the extra presence on the stage.

It was a tradition that only monarchs could judge one of their own number. The expected panel of six, three form each Clan – Iowa (the only queen), Wisconsin and Ohio for Amun; New Mexico, Colorado and Kansas for Zeus – sat at two tables flanking a plush throne centre stage.

The throne held the wizened form of the Ancient Pythoness.

Her presence indicated the importance of this trial, involving half a dozen states and covering two Clans as it did, and she would technically hold the casting vote in an impasse between them, but no vampire who valued their head would dispute her rulings. My gaze lingered on her.

Her unseeing milky eyes flicked upwards and unerringly fixed on mine.

I stiffened, stifling a strong urge to step back as Pam gasped quietly besides me. I bowed deeply, not sure whether the ancient vampire could ‘see’ the gesture of respect or merely sense my presence. She gave a slight nod, and turned her gaze back to the audience below.

Pam breathed, “Fuck. That was unnerving.”

I didn’t answer.

My fangs snapped down as I locked onto the occupant of a chair to the right of the stage.

Flanked by two vampire guards, in a flowing pink dress, and looking thoroughly bored by her own trial.

Nadia.

…

Pam ignored my reaction and pulled over a chair. She gave me a pointed look to remind me to act the part as she ‘helped’ me lower into it. I was inclined to trust Jephson, but she clearly wasn’t, which was fair enough. She hadn’t worked with him for three years. I let my anger settle, and relaxed.

Felipe’s lawyer droned on, making a lengthy argument in favour of Alabama paying extensive damages for plotting to invade Louisiana and Arkansas, regardless of the fact that none of her vassals ever got as far as setting foot in either state.

Pam stood next to me, arms folded. “Fuck a zombie, this is boring. He could put babies to sleep with that whine.” Jephson snorted, and she glanced at him. She leant towards me and added quietly, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Probably.” If she meant wondering why Bill was here, I already had a theory. That was why I was watching the panel members closely. None of them were reacting oddly to Bill, but I suspected his new enterprise might have given him some leverage over one of them. Leverage de Castro would be only too delighted to use. My money was on Wisconsin, simply because he was rash and impulsive.

“If you mean how come the guy who did the least work is first in line for a pay-out, I heard he had a hissy fit.”

We both turned to Jephson as he spoke, eyebrows raised. He looked between us and muttered, “Jesus, that apple didn’t fall far.” He cleared his throat. “I overheard one of the local boys griping. Texas was down to speak first, since he’s presenting the case against her, but the order got changed late last night. The word was de Castro’s ego is smarting and he wouldn’t take second place.”

Pam and I exchanged a look. More like Stan wanted the Louisiana contingent done and out of the way before I was called to speak.

“Well, de Castro does have an ego as big as his territory,” Pam said drily.

Jephson cocked his head at her. “Ain’t he your king?”

She shrugged. “He didn’t object to my bluntness when he found out Alabama had set her sights on his states.”

Jephson looked between us, putting two and two together. He was smart for a wolf. His eyes were stormy, but he said evenly, “I lost men that night. Good men, with families.”

Pam straightened. Her eyes glittered. “Tough shit. They took the job.”

I interrupted their stare-down. “I watched the security footage. They fought well.”

I was aware of the contradiction: I was complimenting his wolves, the ones I’d trained, and their fortitude against stiff odds, the same wolves Pam had likely fought to free me and I was glad she had done.

Jephson looked at me closely, his faded blue eyes missing nothing. “Did you hire that sniper?”

I shook my head. “No. None of the attacks on Freyda were my doing.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Were you working for Texas?”

“No.”

He relaxed, and nodded his acceptance. “Can’t say I blame you for warning,” he glanced at Pam, “family, I guess. Lucky the shit storm hit us at night: fewer Weres on duty. Could’ve been worse.” He glanced at the stage, and admitted grudgingly, “Probably would have been a whole lot worse if that one had her way.”

His gaze lingered on Nadia for a moment, and his face twisted in disgust. Then he rubbed his chin, something he did when he was wrestling with a decision. Perhaps whether to hold me or Pam responsible for the deaths of his men.

Nadia’s lawyer stood up to defend. After a pause, Jephson cleared his throat, but kept his eyes forward. “I destroyed all the copies.”

I blinked. Copies of what? Had he been able to access the bug he gave me, made a copy to hold over me?

“Copies?” I asked cautiously.

He grimaced, still looking at Nadia. “Figured she might have said. She, uh, recorded … things.”

I froze. Of course she did, I thought numbly. And he had seen enough to know what sort of things … Who else had?

Perceptively, he answered my unspoken question. “After the shit stopped hitting the fan, I was ordered to clear up the basement.” He shot a grudging look at Pam. “It was quick at least. Found a couple of discs in the monitor room – raw footage from the cameras. No-one else had found them, far as I could tell.” His lip curled in revulsion. “Didn’t tell nobody, didn’t trust those other vamps. Destroyed ‘em, wiped the originals off the system. The back-ups too, whoever made the discs for her probably didn’t know about those.”

I slumped in my seat, chilled by the thought of that being passed around as entertainment or, more likely, sold to the highest bidder. Even the thought of Nadia keeping it for herself … I felt Pam’s hand on my shoulder briefly. I pulled myself together and said quietly, “Thank you. I owe you.”

He shook his head. “We’re even. Hope they stake the sick bitch.” He turned his attention back to the trial.

Felipe’s lawyer was winding up his spiel.

…

The final ruling on damages for Louisiana would have to wait until Nadia was officially found guilty, but so far Ohio seemed neutral, and the Zeus states stayed sensibly quiet on a matter between two Amun states. Iowa asked some pointed questions of Teresa, skilfully exposing de Castro’s lacklustre defence effort and that it had cost much less than the exorbitant damages he wanted. The claim was a gamble, meant to save face, to show Felipe took any threat seriously. After Iowa’s questions it would be unlikely to deter any future attack.

Only Wisconsin seemed to favour a substantial pay-out for Felipe. Maybe I was correct and Bill had got something on him. Pam rolled her eyes as Wisconsin spoke muttering, “Idiot.” I agreed.

The Louisiana contingent moved back into the audience, as Mississippi and Indiana and their people took the front row. Stan took the lawyer’s place at the podium and a lackey passed a set of folders to the panel.

Stan presented the evidence he and his allies had collected, each judge receiving a folder of documents, financial records and surveillance photos. He was unemotional, meticulously covering the details. He finished by confidently arguing that Nadia’s plan to take Louisiana and Arkansas would have, in his opinion, destabilised the region and had to be stopped.

The room fell silent as the Pythoness stirred. “Texas.” she rasped. “What you say maybe correct, but why did you not take this before Amun?”

Stan bowed respectfully. “I am not part of Amun; I did not think the Clan would look favourably on my involvement.”

No, they wouldn’t. The Clan would not have wanted control of Louisiana taken by someone outside Amun again, and especially not Texas who was already powerful. In fact some would have supported Nadia’s takeover purely as a way to return control of Louisiana to the Amun Clan and remove the de Castro shaped thorn from their hide.

Nadia coughed politely. The Pythoness gave her a nod of permission and Nadia stood to speak, addressing herself to the council, particularly the Amun representatives.

“This move against me was unsanctioned. Supposedly to prevent a takeover within Amun, but made in my wife’s territory, and organised by Texas. This is clearly rank interference in Amun affairs by Zeus. This cannot be tolerated. Amun must react in the strongest term to this threat to its autonomy, you must–”

“Do not presume to speak for Amun.” The Pythoness did not raise her voice; her harsh tone was enough to cut across Nadia’s speech.

Nadia stifled her frustration, barely. “Of course. But you must see–”

“You wed Oklahoma. Your actions were a legitimate concern for Zeus.”

She regrouped, and tried another tack. “Did Texas take this to Zeus, his own council? No, he did not. I say again, this move against me was unsanctioned.”

Unseeing eyes locked on Nadia. The reply was biting. “Be careful where you tread. You did not come before Amun or Zeus with your own plans.”

“It was too early to–”

“Do not lie. Better forgiveness after, than permission before. That was your strategy, yes?”

Nadia swallowed, and straightened her shoulders. “Yes. As has been done, and rewarded many times in the past.”

“Good. Do not complain about it further.” The Pythoness smiled? It was hard to tell under her wrinkles. “Mississippi.” Her tone was honey over menace.

Russell stepped forward to stand next to Stan. “Ancient One.” He bowed deeply.

“Why are you involved in this?” she said sharply.

“My … I felt my state was threatened. Alabama would not have stopped at Louisiana. Mississippi would be her next logical target.”

“You had proof of that?”

“No, your Grace. Only a suspicion borne of strategy and long experience. You do not keep a throne for a century without developing a nose for trouble.”

“And why did you or your husband not take this to Amun?” Her voice was sharp and her milky eyes were fixed on him, but he stood firm.

He paused. He looked to Iowa as he started to speak. “Amun is not … united in all things.”

She cackled. “You could not guarantee they would support you.”

He hesitated a millisecond. “My first loyalty is to my subjects. I must protect my own state. The Amun council is divided. Factions and infighting distract from their wider duty to the Clan as a whole.”

“Speak plainly. What did you fear?”

His voice was firm. “A leak. Information can be bought in Amun.”

The room stilled.

That was a serious accusation. Russell implied that Nadia had at least one member in her pocket and if they’d sought permission Nadia would have been tipped off. If he was right, she had serious influence.

Unlike the five-member judicial panels formed for trials, a full Clan council had nine seats held by established monarchs or older, respected vampires without positions in the hierarchy, each chosen to represent their home kingdom for a decade. Following human population growth, Amun and Moshup had more than nine kingdoms these days, so all of them couldn’t hold a seat. Members were replaced in a rolling program to give all the kingdoms a turn.

Members were expected to be impartial, and to recuse themselves from matters affecting their own kingdom. If a monarch brought an issue with another kingdom to the Clan, especially one which requested permission for a takeover, it was meant to be kept confidential.

Of course, things got out, quiet warnings were given to old allies, children… That was circumvented by asking permission as late as possible to give your target less time to prepare if word reached them.

But members caught selling information or taking bribes had been disgraced, stripped of office and even ended in the past.

The old vampire turned her cloudy eyes towards Iowa. “Is this true? Amun is compromised?”

Iowa currently sat on Amun council; she was known for her even-handed rulings. She bowed her head to the Pythoness. “There may be some truth in what Mississippi says.”

“We will talk of this later.”

Iowa blinked. “Of course, Pythoness.”

“Indiana, do you have anything to add?”

Bartlett stood. “I concur whole-heartedly with Mississippi and Texas. Alabama had to be stopped.”

“Who is here for Georgia?” rasped the Pythoness.

The burly vampire stood. “Henderson, second for Georgia. I can vouch for the evidence collected in Alabama.”

“Very well. Any question for these states?” The judges had none. “Iowa?”

“Thank you. We have confidential testimony to hear. Indiana, Mississippi and Texas and the lawyers may stay to bear witness. The rest must leave.”

A murmur reverberated around the room, increasing until it was interrupted by Ohio slapping the table loudly. “You heard Iowa. Everybody out.”

…

A quiet knock on the door interrupted Pam’s comment that Nadia had chosen to wear pink to appear more feminine and less aggressive. Jephson opened the door to reveal Cataliades and one of the Pythoness’ attendants.

I stood slowly, offering my arm to Pam. “My cue, I believe.”

“The Pythoness summons Eric the Northman.” The attendant bowed. “Your child may attend you. Please come this way.”

An elevator across from the booth took us down to a corridor at the back of the trial room. A stoic vampire guard searched us for weapons, as his partner muttered everyone was search since Rhodes, and then we waited for the all clear to enter. Mr Cataliades patted his brow with a handkerchief, and Pam squeezed my arm. I patted her hand and sent her reassurance before I closed down our connection.

I needed to concentrate. With two states up for grabs, there would be behind the scenes deals and power plays I wasn’t privy to… and that was just the panel. Nadia would be gunning for me.

All eyes were on us from the second we entered through a set of double doors at the back of the room. I leant heavily on Pam as we walked up the aisle, and I was waved to a chair on the left of the stage. Nadia’s jaw clenched as I sat down and the atmosphere went from tense to claustrophobic as Pam took a seat on the front row next to Cataliades. I deliberately took a relaxed pose, hoping any small signs of tension would be blamed on pain.

“Northman. We have questions.” Her blind eyes and wild hair were not as unsettling as the aura of power she exuded. I sucked it up, thinking momentarily of Sookie, likening the ancient vampire to ‘good silver’. It had been an apt analogy: the Pythoness was highly valued but also dangerous, feared.

I nodded deeply. “Proceed.”

Colorado began. “Did you command your child Karin to end Oklahoma?”

I expected this, and answered firmly. “No, I did not.”

“Did she do so on your orders?”

“No.”

He looked to the Pythoness, but she was silent. He tried again. “The goal was to capture Alabama and bring her to trial to resolve this without further conflict. Why did your child take it upon herself to end your wife?”

“She thought Freyda had ended me.”

“How so?”

I gestured to Pam. “Both my children were there that night, and felt I was close to my end. Karin assumed I would be gone before I could be found.”

Iowa gestured to Pam. “Can you confirm that?”

Pam step to the podium, and bowed gracefully to the council. “Yes, it is as my maker said. A few minutes more–”

She stopped as Wisconsin made a show of noisily consulting his notes. “This happened on the seventeenth?” He gave me an appraising look. “And he was at death’s door as they say?”

Pam replied. “Yes. I fed him my blood three times that night.”

Texas stepped up to the podium. “I can confirm that. His child Pamela needed a dozen donors to replenish herself before that sunrise.”

Fuck. I could have drained her at that rate. It really had been close.

Kansas was watching Texas. When they’d both retaken their seats he turned to me. “You swore an oath to protect Oklahoma. Were you a loyal Consort to your wife?”

“I was loyal to Oklahoma, yes.” The state more than Freyda…

“Did you conspire with Texas to end her?”

“No. I did not.”

“Or with any other state?”

“No. Even if I had been inclined to do so, Freyda would have known.”

“Yes, she kept you on a short leash, didn’t she? I saw that myself. But you did have some opportunity didn't you?” His eyes flicked to the front row.

I stilled.

“Come, come Northman. I am quite hurt that you think I don't know what goes on in my own hotel. You were alone with Indiana and Mississippi for some hours were you not?” He’d been waiting to use that titbit, judging be the flash of pleasure in his eyes.

Russell stifled a laugh, breaking the tension.

“Please, share the joke Mississippi,” said Wisconsin curtly.

Russell stepped up to the podium. “Let's just say we didn't waste those hours talking politics.” He cut his eyes to his husband and winked.

“You will show this court respect,” snapped the Pythoness. “Explain.”

Russell dropped his playful manner at once, and bowed. “Excuse my exuberance. Kansas is referring to the Zeus sheriff conference two years ago. My husband bought some expensive patent licenses from Oklahoma, and Freyda sweetened the deal by allowing her consort to join us that night.”

The room was completely silent for a few beats. Iowa frowned. “Was this a formal arrangement?”

“No. A verbal agreement only.”

She stiffened, and asked with her eyes on Bartlett, “Northman, was blood exchanged?”

“No. Indiana stated that I would be returned in the same condition, and their majesties respected that.”

“That was all? Freyda did not set terms herself?”

“No. Only the time I was to return.”

Iowa shot the Zeus contingent a sharp glanced. “That was careless, when she was so reliant on her consort.” I got the distinct impression she thought them fools to allow Freyda a throne so young.

“Unless Northman was calling the shots himself,” Kansas said drily. “And once Freyda would no longer heel, it gives Northman motive to be rid of her, don’t you think? He was most unhappy with his queen’s marriage to Alabama, you know. He protested so vehemently the night before that Freyda threatened him with silver. Is that not right?”

I levelled a stare at him. “Yes, after a long and heated debate. Just before dawn, in _our suite_.” Implying Kansas had bugged our private rooms.

Colorado asked, “What was the disagreement?”

“She had not consulted me on the marriage, only informing me the night before the ceremony. As consort, my role was to defend Oklahoma and I felt an alliance at that time was a mistake. Our guards can confirm that. Or Kansas can, apparently.” I stopped myself from giving the spying hotel owner a contemptuous look.

“Why did you think it a mistake?” Iowa asked. “Alabama is a strong kingdom.”

“Exactly. Oklahoma was not recovered; it would have been an unequal alliance. We needed to strengthen our own house first.”

“Northman was against me from the start.” Nadia drawled.

My covert glances at her had found her outwardly nonchalant during my questioning, but she must have been itching to join in. Let her dig her own pit. Her eyes flicked to the front row, lingering on Texas. “I expect Northman took the first chance to betray me. Treason to a throne merits final death without exception.”

“There was no treason. My loyalty was to Oklahoma, not to Alabama.” Cataliades suggestion was risky, a legal minefield, but one I might survive if I could avoid mentioning bugging Freyda and sending a warning.

“Oklahoma was sworn to protect my interests.” Nadia snapped. “You cannot deny you betrayed me.”

“I swore no oath to you or Alabama.” Thank fuck.

“But Oklahoma did, and you were hers!”

Mr Cataliades coughed politely. “I have inspected both relevant marriage contracts. Perhaps I could clarify?”

Colorado waved him forward. “Oklahoma was sworn to protect Alabama’s interests, above all others _except her own state_. Her consort was not a signatory to that contract, nor mentioned in its clauses, and he did not swear fealty to Alabama; ergo he is not bound to her. He is correct: his loyalty was solely to Oklahoma.”

“I concur,” Colorado agreed. I relaxed a fraction; his knowledge of contract law was extensive. He asked me, “You felt Oklahoma was threatened?”

“Yes. I believe Alabama intended to make Freyda her puppet. She has a history of betraying close allies.”

New Mexico sat forward to look at me. “You have history?”

“A lengthy one.”

Colorado turned to the New World vampire. “His maker killed hers centuries ago. She betrayed Northman to the Fae in Europe; and was exiled for it.” He looked at Wisconsin. “I’m sure Amun considered that mark against her before they granted her Alabama.”

New Mexico turned to Nadia, “Dealing with the fae makes _me_ reluctant to trust you. Northman had reason–”

“Reason to think Alabama would be a threat to him,” interrupted Kansas, receiving a glare from New Mexico. “A threat to his hold over _his_ puppet, Freyda. That is what you feared, yes?” He sat back smugly.

I supressed a sigh, resigned myself to the consequences and played my next card. “Freyda was not my puppet. My lawyer has copies of our contract for you.”

Cataliades produce them from his cavernous briefcase, and a guard passed them over. We waited as the council perused the thick document.

“Northman cannot take Oklahoma for a century.” New Mexico muttered, turning to Colorado. “Is that watertight?” Colorado nodded absently, still reading. New Mexico shared a glance with Iowa. Were they expecting me to stake a claim?

Ohio frowned at his copy. “No assets, no retinue, oversight of all meetings … This is unusually restrictive.”

A few seconds later Iowa added thoughtfully, “No dominion over his blood.” She asked Colorado, “By sending him to Indiana and Mississippi, did she break that?”

“No, only if she directly ordered him to _give_ blood to another. Placing him at risk of an unwilling exchange is not a violation: his blood was hers to spill in defence of Oklahoma after all.”

Iowa grimaced and returned to her reading.

Ohio asked, “Who is this human Felipe was bound to protect? I recognise the name.”

I answered neutrally. “The telepath from Rhodes. She saved many lives.” Not his predecessor’s, who had been married to Iowa at the time. She flinched in my periphery.

“Ah, yes. I remember the protection decrees now.” He turned a page, and no-one else commented.

Colorado sat back, pensive as he waited for the others. New Mexico finished last, threw his copy down and said pointedly, “Kansas, Freyda was not the damsel in distress you paint.”

“No, and this does not add up.” Colorado was suspicious and he was known for his tenacity. I groaned internally. He wasn't going to let it drop, better to give up the information willingly before he demanded it. Time for the last card. I nodded to the half-demon.

Cataliades waved over the guard and gave him copies of a much shorter document. “I believe this contract between Oklahoma and the vampire known as Appius Livius Ocella will answer your questions.”

Nadia faked mild curiosity whilst most of the council were nonplussed. Colorado, who was already speed-reading, clarified. “Haven’t seen one of these for decades. It’s a maker’s betrothal contract.” That raised a few eyebrows.

Iowa betrayed her surprise by blinking when she finished reading. “This is binding,” she said slowly, and looked right at me. “Were you willing?”

I shrugged, and gave an old response. “Where my maker leads, I follow.” She lingered on me for a few seconds, but looked away without asking more.

Colorado tapped the two sets of parchment in front of him. “Later additions were not in your favour. You added a century, lost contact with both your children and the telepath, in exchange for nothing beyond her protection.”

I went with the most acceptable. “She saved my life and my child’s at Rhodes. I owed her for that.”

He frowned, but accepted it. “There is an anomaly in the betrothal contract. Only you are restricted from another marriage.”

Cataliades spoke up. “Yes, that is unusual. That missing clause would have prevented Oklahoma marrying twice.”

Colorado cocked his head at the half-demon. “You think Freyda planned her bigamy, for lack of a better term?”

“Perhaps. You will note the lawyer’s names are included. I have spoken to them. Oklahoma paid them both and the one representing Ocella is quite… junior.”

“I have seen enough,” Colorado waved the rotund lawyer back to his seat. A look passed between Iowa, Ohio, New Mexico and Colorado, a look that spoke of conclusions drawn. He turned to Nadia. “Alabama when exactly did you begin negotiations with Oklahoma?”

Nadia stretched lazily in her chair. “Oh, six months before we wed. Long after her first marriage.”

I stretched my legs out in front of me. “Really? I heard you approached Oklahoma while Darius still held the throne.”

A flash of annoyance quickly smoothed. Her eyes shone vindictively. “There is another explanation for the terms your maker and Freyda agreed. They were ensuring you would divorce the telepath.” Bitch. There was a faint ripple of surprise.

Wisconsin took her hint. “Well, that explains the mystery. Obviously you had to undo a human marriage.”

“Oh, they were pledged.” Nadia was practically smirking.

Wisconsin blinked, but Colorado began to reason aloud. “The pledge protected your asset from your king. If the pledge was broken… and Felipe released you… the telepath would become his asset, but the protection you negotiated …” Another round of looks. At least they weren’t questioning why I’d kept her from Felipe, accepting it was payment for Rhodes or assuming it was to spite him, nothing more.

Iowa asked quietly, “What did Felipe get from this if not the telepath?”

New Mexico grimaced. “Freyda was paying the usual for a sheriff. But Darius’s personal funds went missing during the coup. Never found.” That Freyda had secret funds made sense – I saw no trace of Ocella’s pay-out on the Oklahoma books.

The council ruminated on that idea that Freyda had compensated Felipe handsomely for the loss of a telepath but neither had declared it, until Colorado said, “One issue remains. Northman’s claim for damages.”

…

“This is ridiculous,” Nadia snorted. Her tone turned menacing. “Northman tried to kill my wife. He should be ended for treason. Freyda had a right to do as she wished with the traitor.”

“Do you have proof?” Iowa asked, distinctly cool.

“There were several attempts on Freyda while my wife was under Northman’s protection.”

I put in, “Yet none succeed, not even the vampire sniper who had a clear shot for two whole seconds. Was he mail order?”

Glances were exchanged again. New Mexico took the baton. “Northman was pivotal in defeating the last attack by all accounts. The evidence against him for that is circumstantial now Wallace is conveniently dead. Northman?”

“The evidence was fabricated. Boscombe must have been party to the attack.” I was almost sure of it.

“He is in custody here. He is adamant that Wallace implicated you. He claims you were visiting Tulsa to conspire with Wallace.”

I shook my head. “The tip-off about the bombing came from Tulsa. With Freyda’s consent I was watching Boscombe. I suspected he wanted the throne for himself, but now I believe he was acting for another state for many years.”

“But you don’t have proof.”

“No, proof is in short supply in Oklahoma.”

“Hmm. Boscombe needs re-questioning. If you are proved right, you have a claim. We will need to determine who is responsible, whether Oklahoma or Alabama, but–”

Nadia interrupted furiously, “The claim is inflated. It has been barely a fortnight and he is pink with health!” Oh, she was most unhappy to see my recovery.

“He is miraculously recovered, isn’t he?” Wisconsin stuck his oar in. “Care to explain that Northman?”

The Pythoness jerked as if coming out of downtime. She gestured briskly at one of her attendants. “Alabama. Do you deny his injuries?”

“His child and Texas conspire against me. Where is the proof?” Gone, thanks to Jephson, and I would rather forgo compensation than have that circulating. I almost growled at her: she was baiting me, hoping a recording would be revealed to humiliate me.

“There is another witness. Her testimony is also to be kept confidential. Remember your oaths.” The Pythoness showed her teeth and glared at the council, receiving a murmur of agreement. “Ah, here she is.”

There was a quiet pop and a familiar figure appeared in the space between the stage and the front row. All eyes were on her, but she was unfazed by the attention of so many predators.

She grinned at me. “Northman. Nice suit.”

“Miss Kingfisher. Nice sword.” It was too. Well crafted, slung easily from her hip, and silver, very silver. A fae blade matched to a very fetching blue fae gown, completed by silver jewellery at her neck and wrists.

She caught my raised eyebrow and shrugged. “Too many vamps.”

The Pythoness hissed. “You come armed! I guaranteed your safety, healer.”

Rory winked at me. “You haven't changed a bit, seer. It’s been what – two centuries? Not long enough for me to get senile and trust you.”

If vampires breathed there would have been a collective intake of breath, instead there was complete silence until the Pythoness broke it with a cackle. “Still tactless, fae.”

Rory chuckled. “Still cantankerous, vampire.”

The Pythoness cackled again and then spoke to the council. “Remember fae cannot lie. And this one is brutally honest.” I briefly wondered if that held for half-fae, but I wasn’t going to challenge her.

Iowa recovered first. “You treated Northman?”

Rory glanced at me. “With your permission?” I gave a nod. “Yes, three nights ago. His injuries were extensive, compatible with intense torture day and night for eleven days, including limb and digit amputations, de-fanging and extensive scarring with cursed silver.”

“And can you heal any vampire?” asked Kansas, who couldn’t quite hide his interest.

“This was a favour. I supposed I could consider others… but I needed special equipment. It was extremely expensive.”

“The healing was successful?” Ohio was politely curious. And trying not to drool.

“Yes, as far as it could be. Digits, as you know, are easy to regrow. If you wouldn’t mind, Eric?” She gestured to my hands, and I suppressed a smile. Canny woman was using me as a walking advert, and using those fae talents for misdirection to obscure exactly how well-healed I was too. I removed my right glove and splayed my fingers as I heard Pam whisper a joke about gloves and show trials, followed by Cataliades’ muffled chuckle.

“What fae trickery is this?” hissed Nadia. “Fae do not heal vampire.”

“I heal who I please.”

Nadia looked between Rory and me sharply. “Does Northman _please_ you? I admit I found him quite … entertaining.

Pam hissed, and Kansas said gleefully, “A cat fight, marvellous.” I fixed a smirk on my lips, ready to ignore Nadia’s inevitable taunts. I’d had practise.

Rory gave Nadia a glare that would boil steel. “I don’t think we find the same things entertaining, you sadistic bitch.”

Nadia laughed throatily. “How touching, he has another fan. Was it his looks? Or pity for my sloppy seconds? I’m afraid I left him rather … mangled.”

Rory spat out two foreign words, and stepped towards Nadia, her hand shooting to her sword. Before the guards could react I snapped, “Rory. Not here,” hearing the swish as she began to draw. She hesitated long enough for me to reach her, flying at half speed and remembering to favour my ‘good’ leg as I landed. The Pythoness cackled, and waved the guards back as I clamped my hand over Rory’s and she stopped, barely, allowing me to force the hilt back down. She was vibrating with rage, attention still on Nadia.

Nadia smiled maliciously. “I see I touched a nerve. Jealous? He warmed my bed willingly, you know.”

We were only a few feet from her, and I looked her straight in the eye. “I was never willing. Not when Freyda _ordered_ me to bed you, and not when I was chained in silver.” She froze, shocked that I would admit that degradation publicly, but I refused to hide it. The shame was hers, not mine.

Rory bared her teeth at her and stepped back. “And I definitely do not heal vampires who trade in fae blood.” Nadia's eyes widened as Rory turned back to the panel.

“I bring a message from the fae, seer. The fae blood used in the attack on Oklahoma has been traced as you asked. It came from two fae taken prisoner before the realm was sealed. They were held and farmed for blood by a vampire in Canada. He is being hunted as we speak.”

The Pythoness hissed. “Did they live?”

“No. They passed to the Summerlands around the time of the attack. You will hear more tomorrow.”

“Thank you, healer.” She stilled for a minute, white head bowed. When she looked up she said, “Northman, speak to Boscombe: loosen his tongue and he will talk for you. Alabama, you will be sentenced tomorrow. Prepare yourself.”

She reflected for a moment, milky eyes on the floor. “Northman. You lost most in this. You may mete out the sentence if you wish.”

I grinned widely at a grim-faced Nadia as she stood to be lead away. “Thank you. I accept your generous offer, your Grace.”

“Good. Re-open the room, we have kingdoms to decide.”

…

Rory came with us to the back corridor, and Stan followed. Cataliades mopped his forehead again, and congratulated me on my ‘nerve under fire’ and an excellent outcome. Then the lawyer excused himself to his room.

Rory was wary of Stan, but completely calm. She was poised, controlled; perhaps she had allowed her anger free reign to rattle Nadia. There was more to her than healing talent. I wondered about her ease with the Pythoness, and her own history. She’d known I would come to Dallas, that’s why she didn’t ask yesterday.

Stan was watching us curiously, and I couldn’t let Rory’s stunt slide without a little fun.

“So, how much, Miss Kingfisher?”

“Sorry?”

“For my testimonial. Five percent referral fee seems fair.”

She grinned, amused. “You _are_ hard-nosed – the stories were right.”

“Checking up on me?” I needed to return that favour, now I’d … entangled myself with her.

“I have my sources.” Her light expression turned serious. “The Roman turned you.”

“Yes.”

“That made you strong.” Understanding and admiration shone in her green eyes for a second. Then she added sternly, “Don’t forget that cream again tonight.”

How did she…

She took advantage of my confusion to kiss my cheek again, mindful of her silver. “Adiós, amigos.” She popped away as Joseph arrived.

Stan eyed me. “Is she trustworthy?”

I shrugged. “I’ll let you know.”

Pam snorted. “She’s fucking annoying.”

…

I dropped the folder on the table, skirted the video camera mounted on a tripod and approached the Tulsa sheriff. His right hand twitched, betraying his shock at my glowing health, and he glowered sullenly from the wall, expressing his displeasure with Texan hospitality – silver shackles and a dank room with a concrete floor.

Not that he really had anything to glower about yet: he was intact, uninjured, and even clothed. A little underfed, but this wasn’t the Hilton.

He _was_ currently powerless and his uncertain future must be a bitch, but  c’est la vie. Stan discussed his fate with me on the way to the warehouse, so I wasn’t in the dark. But Boscombe was, and that gave me the upper hand. Especially as Stan was certain he wasn’t walking away from this; no comeback for me if I was less than honest.

Time for tongue-loosening.

Greeting him with an elbow to his face I said calmly, “Let’s cut the shit, Boscombe. Nadia _ordered_ you to frame me.”

He scowled, ignoring the blood from his broken nose. “You did it. Wallace admitted everything.”

“I said, cut the shit.” I casually crushed his foot against the floor, a reminder not to waste my time that would last longer than his nose. He hissed and shifted his weight off it.

“Nadia _ordered_ you to use the Chosen for the bombing torattle Freyda. That’s why you made sure the palace was warned in time.”

His eyes widened slightly when I called that out as a scare tactic.

“Nadia hired the sniper, although you were not the middleman for that.” I hadn’t traced the sniper to know for sure who was involved, but I was betting that he couldn’t know that and, as Nadia’s main agent in Oklahoma, that she’d used him sparingly.

He shook his head in denial; wisely realising verbal protest would only result in more broken bones.

“Nadia ordered you to help Freyda take Oklahoma. And then ordered you to lead Freyda to my maker, and ordered you to manipulate him into signing the contract with her.” I repeated ‘ordered’ to suggest I held Nadia ultimately responsible, giving him a glimmer of hope he could get out of this.

He stilled, thinking furiously. One more nudge after my subtle hints…

I reached for the folder and flipped through it. “Some vampires can hold out, some break quite easily. What is the phrase? Ah, yes. They spill their guts.” I gave him fangy grin.

His grey eyes were not admiring. They flared with panic and anger.

“Oh, not literally, Texas didn’t need extremes. This Rick Spinelli for instance, or rather Eduardo as he called himself in Brazil. He did the groundwork for Nadia there, prepping Ocella.” Texas didn’t have Spinelli, I was bluffing.

“Freyda told me you were very helpful with Ocella, that you knew things about my maker.” Freyda hadn’t told me directly, but I finally understood her reaction to my questions about Ocella and the contract. She assumed I knew Boscombe was involved, that Ocella had found out and confided in me. Freyda thought I was setting Boscombe up from the start, framing him for the bombing in revenge. And that Ocella and I had some master plan to overthrow her for Texas all along.

He licked his lips. Now for a bigger gamble…

“Then there’s Peter. Blood brother to Grace, assassin for Nadia. He died owing Nadia a debt, and Grace paid it with her life. You had her day man phone in that warning, and Grace became a scapegoat.” He didn’t react, so my guess was close enough. I put the folder down. “I have enough proof here to damn you.”

I let that hang in the air, while he decided which way to jump. He narrowed his eyes and asked, “Then why are you here?”

“They want a confession, by any means.” I glanced at his foot pointedly. “I want answers. Off the record.”

“In exchange?”

I shrugged. “A good word, perhaps enough good words to save your skin.” I let him calculated the risk. Not that he had much to lose; it might take a while but everything would unravel eventually. He frowned at the floor, weighing his choices, before giving me a nod.

“It would have been much easier for you to take Oklahoma and marry Nadia,” I said.

“Nadia wanted you there, tied to Freyda. So she could take her pound of flesh.” He grinned wolfishly, and I let subtle signs of my anger show. Like Nadia, he enjoyed toying with people; he might goad me for a reaction and slip up.

“Nadia became a queen for good reason. It seems unlikely she would risk such an important plan for petty revenge.”

He shrugged. “She wanted you taken down a peg.” I let my hand fist.

“The bombing was meant to fail, meant to push Freyda into accepting Nadia’s proposal. But why the attacks after they wed? The sniper missed. The last attack never got near Freyda, designed to fail. Oh, there were enough Weres and thugs to seem serious, but the fae blood ensured they were all ripped apart.”

“Freyda admired you. You might have turned her against Nadia. She had to doubt you.”

“But those attacks were bound to arouse my suspicions too. Nadia would not have risked that. That cannot have been her original strategy.”

He blinked.

I spelt out my supposition, leading him by the nose. “Why did she need me in Oklahoma? Not just revenge, not just to make Freyda confident enough to marry her. To simultaneously weakened Louisiana and strengthen her own force. She needed me to fight on her side. Having me framed and killed before the takeover was not her original plan – she could do that any time after she had Louisiana. She needed me controlled as things came to fruition, not suspicious.” I let my tone become bitter. “But Ocella had been ended unexpectedly. What did she originally plan for him?”

He hesitated, but then his eyes glittered with malice. “He was meant to return to Brazil where Nadia had a trap ready for him, to be sprung as she wed Freyda. Distracted by his demented child, he was an easy target. Too easy, as it turned out. She was enraged that a fae cost her the fun she had planned for him.”

I stifled a growl. He was enjoying this, but I needed the last puzzle piece. “And?”

“Before she took her pound of flesh from your maker she planned to use the Romanov boy against him, to force him to command you to keep her secrets and fight for her.”

Against my former king, against Pam. Oh yes, Nadia would have wanted that. Then after some ‘fun’ with us, she would have ended Ocella and me both.

I was lucky that Ocella had been taken out of the picture. I reached to switch the camera on.

…

Boscombe confessed with enough details to confirm the truth.

I took the tape out to Stan, and he said, “You loosened his tongue well. I will see this gets to the panel.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

“Pam is outside.” He hesitated, as if censoring himself. “The equipment you wanted will be ready. Rest well this day Northman.”

Later, just before dawn, Pam rubbed cream into my back, muttering about bossy healers.

She frowned at my scarred chest when I turned to face her. “You will have revenge tomorrow, Eric. For you and Karin.”

Yes, I would.


	20. Regrets and Discoveries

I woke to my alarm and the gentle sound of rain on Thursday morning.

My sleep had been deep and undisturbed, even though Sam was in jail. I pushed away a large twinge of guilt as I realised I'd slept better alone than I had done beside him for a long time.

I went through my morning routine, clinging to the normality of it, until a patrol car arrived to deliver my husband, which was decidedly not normal.

The car pulled up front while I was in the living room, so I went out onto the front porch to meet him. Andy was escorting Sam across the lawn at a fast clip, both of them eager to get out of the rain. I muttered an invitation for Andy under my breath in case Sam had forgotten. It probably wasn't at the forefront of his mind right now. Unshaven and crumpled, he looked like he hadn't slept despite the sedative. He gave me an uncertain, awkward smile.

“Morning, Sookie,” Andy said as they came up the steps, keeping his expression neutral, determined to be professional. Apart from his over-familiar greeting. He never called me Mrs Merlotte. I'd been in jail myself, you see, and even though I'd been acquitted he hadn't forgotten.

“Andy.” Damned if I was going to call him Sheriff Bellefleur in return. Not when he knew what it was like to be falsely accused of murder himself, a situation I'd fixed inadvertently when I tried to bring my friend Lafayette's killers to justice. I had a long memory too.

I didn't much feel like inviting him in for coffee either – proper etiquette hardly covered a sheriff bringing your husband home. In fact what I did was plain rude: I went right ahead and rummaged through his thoughts.

He was hoping for no drama, although he expected it, because a leopard never changes its spots. Jason Stackhouse was always brawling; I was always dragging Andy into the centre of something that Andy didn't want to face. Like today: making him face the unsettling idea that the respectable, church-going man he played poker with turned into a wild animal on occasion. He suspected things got a lot weirder than that around me, and he wanted no part of it.

I turned away from Andy to Sam, mainly so I didn't blurt out angrily that Jason hadn't been in a fight for years. Evidence of my quirk would only unsettle Andy, and we wouldn’t want that, would we.

I put on a welcoming smile. It may have been strained.

“Sam, I've got breakfast warming in the oven for you.” Because everything was normal. Fifties housewife normal. Especially in front of Andy.

Sam glanced at Andy, and visibly braced himself. “Cher, I'm just picking up a few things. I can't stay.”

“What? This is your home, what do you mean you can't stay?”

Andy butted in like a bad smell, settling his thumbs in his belt and talking as if he was explaining the unbending consequences for failing a roadside sobriety test to a particularly dim-witted traffic offender. “Sam here agreed it'd be better all round if he stayed at the bar for a few days. Just til the weekend. Give you both some space.”

I glared at him. “Says who? If you're not charging him, he can go where he likes Andy. Don't think I don't know that.”

Sam said quietly, “Cher, it's okay. It'll be easier this way. It's just two days, until the moon is weaker.” He reached out to take my hand, with a slight air of desperation. As soon as we touched he was thinking at me furiously: _Andy wanted to smooth things over this morning, not even report me to the Bureau, but Kenya kicked up a stink. Said he was covering up because good ole boys that play poker together, stick together. She swore I’m dangerous and covering it up would backfire the next time I did something. Said she'd go over his head, report me herself, and get the liquor license suspended too if she had to, unless I stayed away for a few days._

I was spitting mad at Kenya for sticking her nose in to our business, but I managed to bite out, “Right. And what are the rules for these two days Andy? Because in case it escaped your notice, stellar detecting skills an' all, Sam and I run a bar together so we're going to have to see each other.”

Andy didn't appreciate my tone, but he kept his civil. Barely. “I thought of that.” He meant Kenya had, and she had him over a barrel. “Sam, why don’t you explain to _your wife_?” I bristled at his patronising tone.

“Cher, you stay at home today,” Sam squeezed my hand: _I should face the gossip, it’s worse for you – you hate it and you hear their thoughts on top, “_ and tomorrow you work an early. Kennedy will be in all day with you.”

Because Kennedy, with her history, was the local protector of wives with dangerous husbands, obviously. Jeez, I bet she was pleased as punch with that. I really wanted to yell at Andy, but that would just confirm his worst ideas about me. And to be fair, he had wanted to sweep it all under the rug as a favour to his poker buddy.

That might have rubbed Kenya the wrong way, but I knew full well she hadn’t intervened in a fit of idealism. No, goddammit, she had some misguided idea that I needed protecting.

I had a sneaking suspicion that Jason had dropped her some hints last night. Or Kenya had tricked it out of him – Jason was never very good at keeping secrets. I sighed, my anger deflating as I realised I actually didn’t want to press too hard for Sam to be home anyway. Maybe Kenya wasn't so misguided; Sam’s control had slipped twice in two days, once with me and once with Jason.

But still, it was ridiculous to keep him from his home. And it didn't make me feel at all grateful towards Kenya.

Reluctantly I said, “Fine. But I'm working on the books at home today then. If I'm allowed to go to _our_ bar and pick them up.”

“Why don’t I get someone to run them over, Cher? Save you the trip.” He was still holding my hand, and I caught flashes of the dressing down Kenya had given him, and Sam’s self-disgust at what he’d done, more at what had happened between us than him losing it with Jason. He couldn't believe he'd almost gone postal on me on Monday night. He was thoroughly ashamed of it, didn't trust himself around me and actually thought he deserved to be in jail. He was hurting bad.

I hesitated and he gave me Dean eyes. I sighed again. “I guess that’s okay.”

Andy was relieved I was being reasonable. Sam ran in to grab some things while we stood uncomfortably on the porch avoiding each other’s eyes. Sam came out looking apologetic and Andy _generously_ gave us a few minutes privacy by going to his car. I gave his retreating back a glare before Sam spoke.

“Cher, I'm real sorry about this. Kenya wasn’t going to back down, and I can’t say as I blame her. You don’t know how close I …” He swallowed, and blinked, his eyes wet. “Calvin had to vouch for me, convince Kenya it was just … bad timing. I won’t trust myself for few more days anyway. We can talk then?”

“Of course Sam.” I decided I'd wait until we could talk properly to mention the join. I was still waiting to find out more, and I wasn't ready to tell him. Not with Andy watching like a hawk, not when I was rushed and hadn't had time to work out how to put the little I did know.

“Don’t worry Cher. Everyone will think you’re mad at me for hurtin’ Jason. You know, that I’m in the _doghouse_.” He gave a weak smile along with the limp joke. He was full of remorse and surprise: he couldn't work out why I wasn't actually mad at him.

I tried to smile back. “I'll see you at the bar tomorrow, Sam.”

I gave him a quick hug, and a peck on the lips, and he shuffled off reluctantly into the rain, a mess of regrets and guilt that I couldn’t relieve or fix. Yet.

Great. Now I had a whole day to fret. I couldn’t think of a damn thing to do, or anyone else to contact about fairy shit; I just had to wait for a tug on the lines I’d already cast.

…

It was still early when Sam left, so I planned some housework after I’d thrown out his ruined breakfast, and then regretted blitzing the place Thanksgiving week. There wasn’t much to do. I was idly pottering round the kitchen, bored to be honest, when the phone rang. I looked at it like it was a bee with a deadly sting. It was probably someone phoning to ask about last night’s brawl. I let it go to the answer-phone and then snatched it up when I recognised the voice.

“Amelia, sorry, I was out back.” A little white lie.

“Oh, morning Sook.” And she was straight to it. “I found something for you, but not much.”

“Good. That’s great. Um, is it okay to tell me now?” I suddenly felt weird talking about it over the phone, lowering my voice like it was top secret.

“It’s really not that much Sook. I think it’ll be okay,” she said, amused and humouring me. “I couldn’t find much else about the _locket._ Just that they’re rare, in demand, and some warnings about using one but I didn’t think that’s what you wanted. It’s spent already, right?”

“Yeah. Tell me about the warnings anyway.” I couldn’t remember exactly what I’d told her about how I’d saved Sam. I hadn’t discussed it much with Amelia, wary of dredging up her jealousy of fairy magic and stirring up bad feeling about her father’s unfortunate ‘disappearance’. Things had been a little tense between us back then.

“Right. Well, mostly it was just a lot of,” and she put on a deep, serious voice, “‘ _beware unforeseen consequences’_ , and _‘word your wish with care_ ’ and something about clarity of thought, or purpose, depending on which translation you‘re reading.”

“Oh. Right.” That was in line with the warnings Mr C had given, but I had a sinking feeling that clarity was in short supply at the time I’d used it. Panic that Sam was dying in front of me, now that was plentiful. I didn’t want to discuss my potential magical faux pas, so I pressed on. “Okay, that’s nothing new. What else did you find?”

“Well, I couldn’t find joins per se, but I think that might be another translation issue. I found a couple of mentions of something called a ‘weave’. As in weaving two people’s fates together. That’s that only thing that comes close.”

“Yeah, that might be it.” That cord rooted in my chest, the one Rory had forced me to see, had been woven, braided. ‘Weave’ would fit that. I was rubbing my chest absently I realised, and dropped my hand.

“Okay. So from the little I came across, a weave seemed to be used to enforce … like a debt, or an oath or a deal. There was a story about some fairy guy who saved a kid, and the mother was so grateful she made one of these weaves with him, but it didn’t explain why or what it did. The most detailed account referred to two male fae from different clans who were mortal enemies but needed to defeat a common foe. They didn’t trust each other but the weave bound them to work together until the enemy – a vampire, actually– was killed. If one killed the other while the weave was in place, he would die too.”

That was good and bad. “So it was temporary, but killing one of them would kill the other person too?”

“Not exactly… only if one of them betrayed the other. Not if they were killed by, say, the vampire. Which might have happened, he sounded badass. So that would have been silly, he’d be able _to kill two fairies with one bite_.” She laughed at her joke.

“Okay. So this ‘weaving two people’s fates together’ stuff doesn’t make one person die when the other person does?” That was good.

“No, not necessarily. It sounds like each one is different. Those two guys set their one up precisely, to do exactly what they wanted, and end when they wanted. It was very specific. A witch was helping them to get to this vampire, so she knew all about it, that’s how it got in the grimoire. It’s a fascinating glimpse into covens in thirteenth century France actually–”

I coughed to get her back on track. “So that’s all then?”

“Oh. Sorry. Yes, that’s all I found. Um, Sook, you aren’t in trouble with the fairies again are you? I thought the portals were still shut, but there’s been rumours…”

Damn. Niall, typically, hadn’t bothered to tell me what was or wasn’t secret. And Amelia was not the best person to keep a secret, I reminded myself. I sighed. I’d have to be economical with the truth.

“No, I’m not in trouble with them as far as I know. And I haven’t heard any rumours.” That was true: Nial had just popped into my living room like he’d never left. No rumours were heard.

“Uh-huh.” She wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t push, even though I’d called her out of the blue to ask about fairy magic with no explanation.

And thankfully, it seemed like Tara hadn’t called Amelia with the Bon Temps latest yet, because she didn’t ask about Sam and Jason’s bust up either. Grateful not to have to get into that one, I chatted for a few minutes about nothing much and then said good-bye.

I went back to fretting over Sam, burdened by what Amelia had added to my meagre understanding of the situation.

When I’d unwittingly created this join or weave, I certainly hadn’t been precise about it so who knows what it could be doing to both of us.

…

The phone rang a dozen more times that morning, the answer phone filling with curiosity thinly disguised as sympathy. I picked up to commiserate briefly with Michele, who was still mad at Jason and somehow already knew that Sam was staying at the bar. Jason must have told her about my bruises and all, because she carefully asked if I was okay and offered to loan me Jason for my most demeaning chores as part of his penance. That was her way of making sure I was okay alone in the house – she wasn’t one to fuss or demand I let him come over.

Tara on the other hand, left a long rambling rant about Jason, and men in general, being idiots. And I shouldn't let my fool brother come between me and Sam, who she hoped wasn't hurt. She did at least offer me some retail therapy: she was holding some lovely sweaters at the store for me, or if I could wait until her day off we could hit Monroe or Shreveport, because I needed some serious fun.

I didn’t pick up. I didn’t want to get into what the fight was about, or lie to her about it.

Eventually the calls stopped: it had probably got around that I wasn’t picking up.

I was picking at a snack unenthusiastically when Kennedy turned up with the books about eleven. She apologised for interrupting, but I cleared away my half-eaten sandwich and shushed her.

“Thanks for bringing these; I’m so bored I’m actually looking forward to them.” She’d bought the books and a stack of loose receipts in the large collapsible crate I used to ferry them to and fro.

“No problem, it was nice to get out of the bar.” She winced after she’d said it.

I asked sharply, “Atmosphere a bit off today?”

“You could say that. Jason’s crew came in for lunch early, but no Jason.”

“Oh no.” They were always a little rambunctious if rain had given them an idle morning. Devil finds work, and all that. “Did they behave?”

“There was some muttering, mostly about how Jason only got the worst of it because Sam’s got an unfair advantage.”

I rolled my eyes. “Nothing about how childish and stupid they both were then?”

She snorted. “Men are all children when they want to be. Catfish came in though, so they settled down. And it helped that Sam’s been keeping to the back office.”

I nodded. Staying out of the way was probably for the best. Some idiot might decide to rile him for kicks, see if they could get him to lose it and shift. It amazed me how nasty people were sometimes.

She fiddled with her car keys for a second. “You know Kenya popped in this morning.”

Oh shit.

I didn’t say anything. Kennedy saw something in my face anyway, so she continued cautiously. “She asked me to work tomorrow, keep an eye on you. She’s just concerned, Sook.”

“Well, I can look after myself.”

She tried a smile. “I know. But… accepting help from friends might have saved me a whole heap of regrets.” Her eyes searched mine for a moment, and then she decided I knew what I was doing and she didn’t need to repeat her offer of a shoulder to cry on. She smiled a little easier. “Okay boss, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Kennedy.”

I watched her pick her way to her car and drive off, muddy water splashing from the puddles in the furrowed gravel. It gave me a warm feeling to know I had friends who didn't judge.

…

Soon after Kennedy’s visit the rain cleared up. Weak sunlight brightened the kitchen, but not my mood. Ledgers and receipts were scattered across the table, but for once it wasn't dollar and cent amounts giving me a tension headache. Besides, the books were almost up to date, I’d really only demanded them to defy Andy.

No, the headache stemmed from frustration.

I wanted to help Sam but I didn’t know how. I couldn't bear the way he blamed himself.

I grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and sat down with a clean sheet of paper intending to order my thoughts. Half an hour later I had a list questions for Niall, and a small sense of satisfaction, even if I had no idea when he might be back to give me the answers I needed.

  1. _Check joins and weaves are the same._

  2. _How and why did the CD make one?_

  3. _What is it for? Conditions? Limits?_

  4. _How long will it last?_

  5. _What can it do to hurt us? (Death?)_

  6. _Has it influenced me? Sam?_

  7. _Is it responsible for Sam losing control?_

  8. _Should we remove it?_

  9. _Is it safe to remove it? (CD saved Sam.)_

  10. _How can it be removed?_

  11. _What are the side effects and risks to removing it?_

  12. _What will it cost me? Favours?_




I tucked the list into my purse, and cleared up the Merlotte’s paperwork, stacking it neatly in the crate. Then I made myself some hot chocolate and curled up on the couch with a book.

…

About two o’clock, half-dozing over my murder mystery I heard a car horn beep cheerfully. I jerked and dropped my book, then groaned, expecting Tara. Whoever it was pulled up at the front though.

Rubbing my eyes I stood up and looked out of the window to see a VW bug with a beautiful custom paint job: green with hints of vines and flowers curling around the windows, hood and trunk. I smiled at the whimsy, until I recognised the driver. Rory Kingfisher.

She emerged wearing jeans and a suede jacket over an embroidered white peasant top. She stood by the car, curiously inspecting the house and yard as Dr Ludwig, carrying a battered leather bag, scrambled out of the passenger side and stomped towards the porch.

I sighed, and went out to meet her.

“Dr Ludwig, I wasn’t expecting you. I didn’t know you made house calls,” I greeted politely from the porch.

“I was in the area. I need to speak to you,” Ludwig said gruffly.

“Why don’t you come in Dr Ludwig and we can speak in private?” I said, pointedly ignoring Miss Fancy-pants and her fancy car. She leant up against it, suppressing a smile, as if she had all the time in the world to wait.

The doctor stomped into the front room and cut off my offer of refreshments – not that I had any idea what she ate, but it was polite to offer. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, as usual, and launched right in.

“Well, girl, I have some answers for you. And Brigant is concerned about the join. He _asked_ me to check you over,” She scowled. “He tried _ordering_ but he thought better of it.”

Yeah, I bet she didn’t take kindly to being bossed around. Perhaps she’d given him a harsh reminder of his new, diminished status. “Oh. Well thank you for coming out here, I’m sure you’re busy.”

“I was in the area,” she waved it off. “And he’s paying, but I’m not reporting to him unless you consent.”

“Okay, I guess I shouldn’t turn down a free check-up.”

She had me lay on the couch, checked my eyes, in my mouth, took my pulse, listened to my heart, felt my abdomen and chest, and generally poked and prodded until I felt like a prize heifer. Finally she grunted in satisfaction and said, “Fit as a horse. No damage to your general health.”

“Well, I guess you can tell Niall that much.” I felt a little warmer towards him; he cared enough to have her check all was well.

She turned to put her things away as I straightened my clothes and sat up. She muttered, “Damn fool. Waste of my time and his money. Thinks I don’t know how to look after my own patients.” She shut her bag with a snap, and sat on the couch opposite me, her dark eyes serious.

“How much do you know of the fae?”

I shrugged. “Not a lot.”

“Fae thrive on physical contact, with family and with those who love them.”

I remembered sharing a bed with Dermot and Claude, and nodded to indicate I was aware of that much.

“I told you touch, the right kind of touch, might help with your pregnancies.”

“Oh. Right.” I vaguely recalled that, something about skin contact and massage oils? I’d thought it was just a way to reduce stress. I'd been too overwhelmed to take in all the details that day.

“As I suspected, touch is even more important for fae women during pregnancy. Not just emotionally but physically. Fae women who are denied their family, or mistreated, who don’t get such contact, will wither and, in extreme circumstances, lose a pregnancy.”

I frowned. “But I’m not fae.”

“No, not fully. But humans react to stress and poor nourishment during pregnancy in a similar way. When you first came to me, I suspected that strain within your marriage was part of the problem.”

“That’s why you asked if we argued…”

“Yes.”

I said slowly, “You weren’t surprised that I had slapped Sam.”

“No. I’m old and ugly, not witless and blind,” she said sharply. ”Your husband feels more for you than you do for him, wants more than you can give. You feel trapped, pressured by his demands: you lash out.” She shrugged as if to say that was obvious.

I blinked. Did I feel trapped? I wasn't sure that was quite right, but I let it go for now. “And you think that's the problem?”

“The root of it. Neither of you have accepted your relationship is unequal.”

Okay, so … “How do I … therapy? Would therapy help?”

“Short term, perhaps. To help you both accept the way things are. But it won’t solve the fundamental problem.” She grimaced. “The join complicates matters.”

“How? What is it doing?”

“It is exacerbating the conflict between you, I believe.”

“So it’s making us fight more and that’s making me lose the pregnancies? The join is to blame for that?” Not me and my fairy-ness. I felt a trickle of relief … and then remembered: the join was my fault anyway. Shit.

“Not directly, but it is worsening the arguments between you somehow, yes.”

Okay. So it was one big mess. I asked one of my questions: “What exactly is the join doing?”

“I do not know.” It pained her to admit that. “Many centuries ago, fae royalty sealed important marriages between clans with such magic. My contact tells me that was done to create harmony between the parties, to ensure such marriages would last and produce offspring. I had assumed that your join was similar as it seemed you had become more compatible with the shifter for conception. But I've been told such arrangements would also protect any pregnancy. Yours is not doing that.”

Alarm bells rang over her phrase: c _reating harmony._ I asked slowly, “Could it alter the way we feel? The way we behave?”

“It’s fae magic.” She gestured dismissively as if that was Fairy Magic 101.

As if everyone knew fairies routinely influenced…

Oh. Wait. Claudine’s infectious smile that made everyone around her lighter, happier. Claudine sitting at the bar in Merlotte’s, all attention drawn to her. I hadn’t recognised those subtle displays of powers – just the flashier ones: popping, changing clothes with the wave of her hand, fighting werewolves bare handed.

Fairies did mess with people’s feelings; influence their behaviour, and it came as naturally as breathing for them.

I felt cold. Everything shifted.

How much was a lie, how much faked by magic? My accepting Sam’s proposal or his asking it? My feeling he was safe? His loving me, to the point of insane jealousy?

All that ran through my head quicker than I could blink, leaving me clammy and winded. I clutched at the couch on either side of my legs to steady myself, and breathed deeply. Dr Ludwig frowned at me, but waited until I was back with her.

“Miss Kingfisher came to speak to you. She knows more.”

“No. I … I don't want to see her.” What I really meant was I didn’t want her to see me when I didn’t have control of myself. I needed a minute to deal.

Ludwig's wrinkles shifted and her eyes hardened. “Then we are done here.”

She picked up her bag and headed for the door.

Shit. The questions. My list. My resolution to find out everything I could. I owed it to Sam, no matter who I had to ask. I gritted my teeth, and called after her.

“Wait. I'll speak to her.”

Ludwig turned to look at me.

“She's not welcome in my house though.” I didn't trust her– even if she had crossed the outer ward, I wanted the inner ward between us. Maybe she could cross it anyway, like Niall could, but it was the only defence I had.

Ludwig shrugged. “She expected as much. She still came.” She had an air of disapproval.

I shook my head behind her as I followed her out onto the porch: with her brusque manners, she could hardly criticise mine.

…

What the crispy fuck?

My less than welcome visitor stood on the lawn facing the sun, eyes closed, with her face tilted to soak up the weak rays. She was barefoot, her boots discarded on the ground by her car and her toes digging into the wet grass. It was December and none too warm, but she looked blissful. And like some time travelling flower child from the sixties.

She sighed, opened her eyes and turned to the porch to exchange a glance with Ludwig. She headed over, swinging down gracefully to pick up her boots and keeping to the grass to get round the gravel. She stopped at the bottom of the porch steps, dropping her boots besides her before she spoke.

“Sorry, just recharging. It's been a busy few days.” She tilted her head at me. “This land has been blessed.”

“Yeah. My great grandfather. Niall Brigant.” Who could probably kick your butt if anything happened to me, I was hinting.

“Really? That was … nice of him.” She sounded surprised that he would do that for little ole human me.

“Yeah, well, he's very open-minded.” I tried not to glare. I needed her help.

“You _are_ his descendant, that's always important to the fae.”

Bitch. But before I could react she carried on.

“Family was important enough to Fintan for him to hide you from Niall. Fintan must have loved your grandmother very much to give her such a powerful love token.”

I stiffened at the mention of Fintan and Gran. “You don’t know anything about my Gran.”

She smiled. “No. But I knew Fintan. Quite well.”

She did not just say she _knew_ the man my Gran loved, knew him biblically, standing right next to my Gran’s flower beds as bold as brass… I glared, and she raised her eyebrows at my sour expression, and then her eyes widened.

“Oh, you think…” She hid a smile behind her hand and shook her head. “No, we were friends, never lovers. Many years ago.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

She shrugged. “We had things in common.”

I bit back a retort, and tried to remember I need to hear what she had to say. “Fine. Why don’t you take a seat?”

I gestured at the steps, and turned to pull a chair over. Yeah, she could sit below me on the steps, while I had a comfortable chair and a height advantage to feel superior about. Petty, but I didn’t care.

She sat gracefully on the opposite side of the stairs so she could face me, her back against the railings, and unselfconsciously began wiping one foot dry on her jeans. She took a black sock out of her boot and pulled it on, saying, “Brigant – Niall contacted me two days ago, demanding to know what I’d sensed in you, what I knew about the join you have with your husband.” She glanced up as she pulled her boot on. “I refused to tell him anything. He was most annoyed.”

“Why?”

She shifted to begin drying the other foot. “It’s a private matter between you and your husband. I take confidentiality seriously in my role as a healer, Mrs Merlotte.”

I snorted. “You didn’t seem to mind spilling the beans in front of Eric and Pam.”

She shrugged. “I was taken by surprise. And I am sure they won’t tell anyone.” Really? What sort of hold did she have over him? Not that I cared, but Pam… mentally I shook myself back on track. Why wouldn’t she tell Niall? He was trying to help me.

“I’m not your patient. And Niall’s family anyway.”

“Niall wanted personal information that I obtained through my talents. Family you maybe, but he is fae. You are not. I don’t know how close you are or if you trust him.”

She was looking down, busy pulling on the other sock and boot so I couldn’t see her expression. I didn’t feel she cared enough to protect me, but maybe she had an issue with Niall. She’d known I was a Brigant when we met, and I’d felt that weird repulsion.

I had a sudden doubt and watched her closely as I asked, “Were you part of Breandan’s faction?”

Her head shot up, eyes wide, a look of disgust on her face. “No,” she spat. Then she added more calmly, “No, certainly not. I’m not interested in petty civil wars. I didn’t spend much time in the realm while that lunacy was going on.”

That appeared to be a genuine reaction, but I knew I couldn’t rely on her telling the truth – she wasn’t fae. I would’ve asked what she was, but I didn’t think she would answer.

“You don’t like Niall. Why are you here?” I expected her to say she was best buds with Fintan and owed it to him, but she didn’t.

“Because _you_ need to know how this magic is affecting you.” There was a glimmer of something, a tightening around her eyes and mouth. A bad memory, perhaps.

“Fine.” I relaxed a little, and she mirrored that by sitting back against the railings. “What can you tell me about it?”

“Brigant said it was created unwittingly.” I nodded. “You mislead me on Monday. The shifter was not your husband at the time. Eric Northman was.”

I stiffened. She was watching me intently, so I picked my words carefully. “I never recognised that marriage. It was done purely to protect me in his world.” I left out that he'd tricked me into it in the first place.

“It was a marriage for your convenience, in name only?”

I snorted. “Oh no, Eric doesn't do things just for my convenience.”

Her mouth tightened again. “He held it over you?”

I opened my mouth, and then closed it. I couldn't in all honesty say that he had. “No.” I said quietly. Somewhat reluctantly I added, “We were in a relationship at the time.”

“Were you still together when you used your grandfather's gift?”

“Yes. But he divorced me shortly afterwards.” _So you're welcome to him._

“To marry Freyda.”

“Yep.” It wasn't my job to warn her off. She'd have to work out his position always came first for herself. “I don't see what this has to do with the join. Could we get back to that and what it's doing to me?

She sighed. “Well, I didn’t get a good sense of what it was doing to you, beyond holding onto you.”

“You said it was pulling on Sam.”

“Yes.” She hesitated a little. “Keeping him … with you, I think.”

I kept my face blank, but that stung. I couldn’t bear to ask her if it made him love me as well as stay with… Wait, what about flirting with that girl in Merlotte's back in August and the skank he kissed in Wright last week. I asked, “So you think it keeps him… loyal to me?”

She must have picked up my doubtful tone. “Well, makes him want to be loyal, at least. I don't know what precise terms this particular join has, so who knows. He may still have some free will about it, but being away from you or … close to someone else would be uncomfortable from what I sensed.”

I looked out at the woods, thinking. Sam had said it got harder every day he was away in Wright. That fit. And he’d been in a bad way after the nights he'd spent away from me this week too.

I though it over calmly.

All he’d done was chat to that girl in the bar, feel an attraction for her. It was normal to feel attraction to other people even if you were married. He hadn’t actually acted on it. Maybe he'd have given in to the temptation if it wasn't for the join?

The skank. His thoughts hadn’t been clear enough to tell me who had really initiated that kiss. What I had got along with the memory, now I thought about it, was a sense of revulsion and a huge rush of guilt. If he'd been honest, and drunk, and she'd kissed him before he could stop her… That fit what I saw. He hadn’t encouraged her.

Neither of those incidents were incompatible with what she was saying.

And they were both shifters. I hadn't forgotten his comments about the call of the wild, the maenad, how irresistible that was for him. If this magic made him want to stay with me, but his natural desires were still there, he’d be trapped in a two way tug of war.

I sighed. All in all, it did not sound like a good thing for Sam. “Is it … could it make him behave irrationally?”

She frowned, “Usually there are protections…” Then she asked sharply, “Irrational in what way?”

I tried to explain. “He's normally pretty laid back, easy going. But he's been … jealous, possessive. Over-reacting.”

“Physically? Is he a danger to others? To himself?”

I bit my lip, not wanting to answer.

She took that as a yes and asked less curtly, “Is he getting worse?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

She sent Ludwig a questioning look and I caught the diminutive doctor shake her head in the corner of my eye. Her mouth tensed and she looked momentarily indignant.

Worried she might be about to leave I asked her another pressing question. “Is it influencing me too?” Was that a flicker of sympathy?

“Probably, but to a lesser extent. It’s holding him to you, not the other way round.”

I took a second to think, marshalling my other questions, and choosing the most crucial. I didn’t want the answer to it but I had to ask. “When you showed me the join, the colours, the red light in the join … that’s why you said he loved me right?”

She blinked. “Oh, you saw that. I wasn’t sure if you would see what I saw, or if you’d make up your own image.”

“What?”

She smiled. “Why would magic look like anything real? It’s like dreaming, I get a jumble of sensory data and my mind tries to make sense of it. It appeared as a braid to me because when I was young they called it a weave.”

Well, that answered that question and solved Amelia’s translation puzzle. “I guess that makes sense… what was that glow around me?”

“Humans call it an aura these days. It’s your spirit, or your psyche, the part of you that’s you, that disappears when you die.”

“Like … a soul?”

She shrugged. “If that’s what you call that part that animates you, yes.”

Momentarily distracted by my amazement that she could see souls I asked, “Can you see that for everybody? Even vampires?”

“Of course, and demons, and shifters, all conscious creatures I’ve come across have one. Even animals have something I can sense, much weaker and less organised, but it’s there.”

“Oh.” Maybe it wasn’t exactly souls she was seeing then, I was pretty sure animals didn’t have souls. “But it leaves when you die? What if a human gets turned, they have to die first so–”

“Oh now, that is an interesting thought,” she said enthusiastically. “Hmm. Maybe I could persuade someone to let me watch a turning. Vampires are a bit secretive about that sort of thing, but–”

Ludwig coughed, and I jerked towards her. I’d forgotten she was there for a minute, forgotten to dislike Rory too, both of us caught up in our speculation. “Less philosophy ladies, I don’t have all day.”

Rory grinned. “Sorry. I know that birth in Hotshot kept you up.”

Something occurred to me then. Jason. Jason’s words had been pink when I drank the shaman drug for Alcide. Pink because he loved me. Maybe her colours weren’t the same code. “Red for love?” I asked, needing to be sure.

“Yes. Scarlet for romantic love. Clichéd, I know. Platonic love, friendship, loyalty – all warm colours, deep reds and oranges.”

She was waiting for me to ask. I steeled myself. “So amber…”

“Would be strong affection, the sort of feeling you have for a good friend or family member, perhaps a brother, a sister, an aunt or uncle.”

Shit. Brother? That was my husband…

She grimaced at my obvious discomfort. “The fae would not find that so inappropriate.” I shuddered and she added, “Yes, they have some strange ideas about marriage.”

Then she stood up, brushing her rear off. “If you have any more questions, phone Ludwig here, and she’ll pass them on. We really should be going.”

…

I spent a long time after they left just thinking. I hadn’t answered all my questions, but I sure had a better idea of what I’d done when I’d saved Sam’s life.

I ate a quiet dinner. I ignored another call from Tara, asking why the heck Sam had spent the night in jail and not Jason. I spoke to Michele again briefly, and then Jason took the phone to mumble another self-conscious apology for the brawl, sounding relieved to hear my voice. Thankfully neither of them asked about Sam, or fussed if I was alright alone in the house even though I suspected Jason had badgered Michele to call just to check on me.

I didn’t even react much when Thalia rang the bell at the bottom of the porch steps. She introduced me to two of the vampires who guarded me at night and two more Weres, gruff husky guys from Shreveport, who apologised profusely for letting Lattesta get the better of them last Friday. Gracious that seemed an age ago. I’d almost welcome a simple kidnapping as light relief at this point. Almost.

I stayed on the porch, smiled politely as I memorised their faces, and then watched them disappear into the dark, all as if I was watching someone else do those things. When Thalia lingered for a moment to ask when Sam would be home with a sneer, I didn’t rise to the bait. I just answered numbly that he wouldn’t be back until Saturday.

It wasn’t until I turned in for the night, ridiculously early but worn out by mulling everything over a million times, that it occurred to me I’d been very lucky when I wished Sam back to life.

I’d naively assumed the consequences of using the Cluviel Dor would fall on whoever used it to make a wish. Like paying for a lottery ticket, or throwing coins in a wishing well. I'd thought making the wish had a cost, a price-tag to be paid and naturally it would fall to the wish-maker to pay it. I’d taken that risk without a second thought, thinking I’d be the one to pay.

Except everybody kept emphasising how powerful the damn thing was, how it could affect the ‘balance’ of things.

It wasn’t using the damn thing that carried a price; the cost came from the wish itself, inherent in what you asked for, the consequences of what you changed. That’s why Mr C had kept on about choosing the wish carefully.

Now I’d chewed it over some, I concluded that making a wish with it was like throwing a stone into a pond. It affected everything in the pond, startled the frogs, disturbed the insects, and scared the fish below the surface. The ripples spread out, infiltrating every bit of water connected to the point the stone hit, the epicentre.

I guess the epicentre was Sam. And me. The ripple started with us and spread to anything connected to us. I hoped the effects were largest for us at the centre, and diminished as they spread out to other people, just like ripples on a pond.

Thank goodness I’d used it for something fairly simple. What would have happened if I'd asked for something open ended, asked to be happy for instance? How far would those ripples go, would it have changed the whole world, bent it into shape around whatever I wanted? I imagined people who didn’t like me winking out of existence, food I didn’t like disappearing, friends forced to do what I wanted just to please me…

I shuddered. That kind of power scared me witless. I could have influenced a whole mess of things in ways I couldn’t begin to understand. No wonder Mr C’s warnings had been so serious.

It was bad enough that I’d just messed up Sam and myself – it could have been much worse.


	21. Judgement

There was a restrained air of excitement in the packed room beneath the observation booth. Banners for Oklahoma and Alabama hung prominently over the empty stage, in anticipation of tonight’s announcements. Last night had been informal, a preliminary hearing that drew a smaller audience. Tonight was the ‘show’, the ruling, and even with extra seating the dribs and drabs drifting in had to stand at the back.

Pam and I spent the wait watching the crowd from the booth. Georgia himself had arrived, and Tennessee and Kentucky had each brought half a dozen vampires with them. There were representatives for both Carolinas, and Northern Florida. They all had an interest in who got Alabama. Missouri had arrived with a smaller contingent – he would be interested in both outcomes being in Amun and sharing a short border with Oklahoma.

Pam needed to understand high level politics now she was a sheriff. Jephson did not. So I commented in Norse, “ _The jostling to replace Nadia must be fierce._ ”

Pam frowned. “ _Because many of Alabama’s neighbours are here?_ ”

I gestured at the empty tables on stage. _“That, and Amun has chosen northern states to make the decision.”_

She was quick to understand. “ _Ah. Less conflict of interest or allegations of it._ ”

“ _Yes. Yet Zeus picked three states that border Oklahoma_.”

“ _Everyone but Texa_ _s. Who_ _can hardly rule on this when he’s presenting the case against her…”_ She narrowed her eyes. _“Zeus agreed a successor beforehand.”_

I nodded, pleased. _“Perhaps. Or just those states. They have been co-operating lately.”_

“S _ome thought to pick you._ ”

“ _Who?_ ”

“ _Iowa and New Mexico were surprised you had no claim to Oklahoma.”_ She'd caught that last night too, excellent.

“ _Only Iowa was disappointed.”_ New Mexico was not, which suggested he had another candidate in mind, confirming the Zeus panel had already chosen someone.

She nodded in understanding.

“ _Did Texas know I was barred from succeeding Freyda?”_

“ _Not from me or Karin. He might have guessed.”_

I nodded, and watched Texas for a moment. _“Texas will want someone reliable to his north – Joseph?_

Pam shrugged. “ _His pillow talk does not include matters of state.”_

I was about to ask what it did include, when the noise from the audience fell away.

…

The panel walked out onto the stage and took their seats.

Ohio, Kansas, Wisconsin and Colorado were dressed conservatively in dark suits. Iowa wore a stunning red dress, complimenting her raven black hair.

The Pythoness, in her usual robes, was escorted to her throne by her attendants.

New Mexico entered last. Face painted black with a stripe of yellow, bare-chested, a feathered headdress and arms adorned with gold and turquoise bracelets, he cut an impressive figure dressed as his namesake: Tezcatlipoca, Aztec god of the night sky, eternal youth and war amongst other things. He stood centre stage, staff of office in hand.

Pam chuckled. “He certainly enjoys the pantomime.”

New Mexico opened the court by pounding the staff on the hollow stage. “This court of Amun and Zeus is in session, by my order as master-at-arms. You are called to witness the judgement between Nadia Al-Kahina of Alabama and Stan Davis of Texas, supported by Mississippi and Indiana. Bring the defendant.”

Nadia was brought out, flanked by two guards. She was composed, wearing a long blue velvet gown, and she sat regally on the stage, ignoring the audience. Stan Davis mounted the stage and took his seat on the left, serious but relaxed.

New Mexico boomed out, “Alabama stands accused of three charges. Attempting to overthrow Felipe de Castro and take the state of Louisiana without authority of any clan. Subversion of the Amun council by corruption and bribery of two members. And lastly, treason against her sworn and sealed wife Freyda of Oklahoma by multiple attempts on her person.” He paused for a few whispers of surprise in the audience.

“She’s fucked,” whispered Pam.

Jephson frowned at me. “They added new charges?”

“New evidence was uncovered.” For subversion _and_ treason. Boscombe’s confession and the fae connection proved her treason against Freyda, even if she hadn’t meant the attacks to succeed. The corruption charge indicated the bribes had been confirmed: either Amun was short two finally dead council members, or they’d saved their own necks by throwing Nadia to the wolves.

New Mexico held up the staff, and the whispers stopped. He laid the staff on the Zeus table and took his seat, nodding to Nadia.

She stood, speaking in a clear unwavering voice. “We have always valued strength in our leaders. My people deserve it from me. Nevada has overreached himself. Felipe de Castro is weak and all of Amun knows this. Under our beloved Sophie Ann,” – Pam snorted at that, Sophie Ann had not particularly liked Nadia – “Louisiana was the jewel in Amun’s crown. Today the state is vulnerable, and, especially in these troubled times, we must cull the weak to survive.”

She swept a look across the panel finishing on Texas. “I envy Zeus their co-operation in the south. Human fundamentalists threaten us all. They can only be countered by solidarity between states. Under my rule, with Freyda at my side, Alabama, Oklahoma, Louisiana and Arkansas would have acted as one against them.” No-one reacted to her admission that Arkansas had been part of her game plan. No-one was shocked.

“I have used all means at my disposal to protect my people from the coming storm, to remove a weak king and bolster Amun’s strength in the south. I have done nothing to warrant punishment except fail in my goal. I have only done as has been done for centuries. Had I presented this as a fait accompli it would have been supported whole-heartedly.” Her mouth twisted in contempt. “Nevada was too weak to stop me. He had to rely on help from Mississippi and Texas. Protecting the weak serves no-one. Strength is essential to our survival.”

She bowed to the Pythoness and sat down.

New Mexico gestured to Texas, who stood, hands in pockets.

“Fundamentalists cannot be destroyed with brute force: cut one down and another dozen are created. They are defeated with public opinion. And that is also the biggest threat to our survival. Events are in flux and we are at a critical juncture. Human technology is advancing; more about our nature than we might wish may be revealed publicly. Their governments are wary of us. To survive we need leaders with foresight, cunning and above all the ability to adapt. Clinging to the old ways and traditions will not save us. We must begin to integrate our culture with theirs; it is the only way to avoid a conflict we cannot win.”

He turned to Nadia. “You are right; a decade ago your actions would have met with approval. But this is not that time. We cannot afford bloody conflicts when our rulers are known and recognised. We cannot afford palaces littered with bodies mere hours after television cameras have left, as Oklahoma's was. We cannot keep covering up events of that magnitude. Your use of fae blood was extremely reckless. You put us all at risk with your methods. Strength must be tempered by reason.”

He sat down and New Mexico stood. “Pythoness, are you ready to decide this matter?”

“I am.” The crone bowed her head, wild white hair hiding her face until she raised it again. “Alabama risked us all. Her throne is forfeit. Nadia Al-Kahina is guilty on all three counts. She will be ended before dawn.”

I watched Nadia intently, but she gave no reaction. There were a few murmurs from the audience, but not much surprise: even under the old ways treason and corruption were punished harshly. If you were caught.

“In deference to your rank, your end will not be public. Sentence will be enacted by the former Oklahoma consort, Eric the Northman or his proxy.”

Now that got more whispers, and a definite reaction from Teresa, who bent her head to Bill and spoke urgently in his ear. Pam raised an eyebrow. “Someone just realised you are here.”

“Indeed.” With luck yesterday hadn't given my recovery away. Teresa would assume the closed testimony and the proxy were to accommodate my severe injuries. Felipe would not immediately demand I leave Area 5. He might send someone to end me, but I was ready for that.

Iowa stood. “I speak for this council. Our rulings in this complex dispute are as follows. Nevada’s petition for compensation from Alabama is granted in part, the amount is quartered. Eric the Northman is granted damages from Oklahoma for loss of his position as consort, and damages for his injuries in full from the personal funds of Nadia Al-Kahina.”

Pam whispered, “Did you ask –”

“Only the injuries.” Consorts didn’t get compensated usually, but I wasn’t going to refuse it.

“Georgia, any accomplices held in Alabama will be dealt with by the incoming monarch. Texas, any accomplices you hold must be turned over to Oklahoma by dawn. This ends our ruling.”

Hmm. Texas definitely knew who was taking Oklahoma – he’d been very sure of Boscombe’s fate. I watched as Nadia, icily calm, was escorted out.

New Mexico knocked his staff twice. “Pythoness, are you ready to appoint the new rulers for Oklahoma and Alabama chosen on behalf of Amun and Zeus?”

“I am.” The room became completely still. An attendant handed her a heavy metal seal on a chain. I recognised it, and the vampire who emerged from a side door to cross the stage.

Wearing ornate yellow and blue robes of my former state, she bowed in front of the Pythoness, who said clearly, “Isabel Beaumont do you accept the state of Oklahoma?”

…

After Isabel had sworn her oaths, and the Oklahoma seal hung around her neck, she moved to stand under the Oklahoma banner next to the Amun table.

The Pythoness was passed a second seal.

Again I recognised the vampire crossing the stage in the red and blue robes of her new state.

I had only met the vibrant African twice, but she had a reputation for common sense like her blood brother, Virginia. She was a good choice, old enough and experienced because she had been Virginia’s second for several decades. As Zola was sworn in, I remarked to Pam that they had chosen from outside of Amun to sidestep the bickering. She had no ties to interested parties, except that she had been close to Georgia about a century ago. And if Georgia had manoeuvred an old ally into place, it was just reward for his part in Nadia’s downfall.

…

Jephson received a call over his earpiece. “Time to move, Eric.”

I rose, glancing down at the crowds milling around the two queens to congratulate them. The plan was to get to Stan’s rooms before the audience began dispersing.

Jephson led us, and an armed escort of three Weres, up two floors using the staff stairwell. Then he swept us along an empty corridor to a door flanked by the two vampire guards from yesterday. Jephson ushered us inside into a spacious sitting room, dismissing the Weres.

Pam heated us bloods, and Jephson stepped out for an update. When he returned he said, “Texas will be here as soon as he can.”

I sipped the blood and asked, “How long are you in Dallas for?”

“Just for this. Then it’s back to Okie. I left Ralph in charge, he’ll handle it.”

“Security is good?”

“Yeah, Texas left enough forces there.” He gave me one of his piercing stares. “They don’t know the layout and the locals though. Shame you couldn’t stay.”

I shrugged. He wasn’t one for sentiment, so that told me enough.

“What’s this Beaumont chick like?”

Pam warned, “Be respectful or she’ll have your head.”

I smirked at him, and he shook his head at me. “I thought for sure any child of yours would have a sense of humour.”

“You’re just not very funny, wolf.”

Pam looked between us. “No he’s not. Your new queen won’t like your jokes.”

I chuckled. “Isabel is quite serious. But she’ll be fair.” I couldn’t say much more, but he nodded as if that was enough.

Pam started a discussion about security systems and I left them to it. I stood at the window, hand in my pocket, sipping my blood and watching traffic, thinking about Nadia.

…

I turned to the door as the voices from the corridor got louder.

Texas came in, followed by Isabel, who was wearing an elegant rich brown dress. Jephson stood, nodded to Texas and left. Pam got up to heat more blood and Stan nodded to me and removed his suit jacket, throwing it over the back of a chair, still speaking to Isabel about tax law by the sound of it. They broke off, and Stan joined Pam at the bar. Isabel approached me.

I bowed deeply. “Congratulations, your majesty.”

She nodded, but watched me closely. “Thank you.”

“Oklahoma will do well under a more experienced queen.”

She hesitated. “Or king. I would not have agreed if… other options were available.”

“Joseph?”

Her eyes softened slightly. “Stan needs him in Houston. I didn’t mean Joseph.”

Ah. “I was never an option.”

“That is a loss for Oklahoma.”

“You are far too humble for a queen.”

Her mouth twitched. “Or you are not accustomed to queens with sense.”

I smiled a little. “Perhaps not.”

“You are less ambitious than I anticipated. I did not wish to step on your toes, as they say.”

“You did not.”

She smiled fleetingly. “Good. I would not wish you for an enemy.” Her face stilled and she became very serious. “My condolences for your child.”

I became equally sombre. “You avenged her. Thank you”

“I… had come to know her a little. I am only sorry I could not prevent it.”

“I saw the tapes. It was unavoidable.”

Luckily we were both saved from further uncomfortable conversation by Mississippi and Indiana. They entered, exchanged nods with everyone, and joined Texas on the couches.

Someone unexpected came in after them. He bowed gracefully to the three kings and made his way over to Isabel.

He bowed. “Congratulations, my liege. Everything will be ready on time.”

“Thank you, Jean-Luc.”

If he had been involved in Nadia’s schemes, he must have covered his tracks very well to keep his position under Isabel. I kept my eyes on him as we nodded to each other. He looked faintly amused.

“Jean-Luc.”

“Eric. A pleasure to see you.”

I gave him a cool gaze until he looked away. Was that a smirk? It was smoothed away too fast to be sure.

Isabel reprimanded him with a sharp glance, and said, “Jean-Luc is to remain in Oklahoma. His local knowledge will be invaluable.” She paused, and added. “I have chosen Jean-Luc as my second, as you might choose Pam.”

I blinked and looked between them.

She was Jean-Luc’s mysterious maker.

Pieces rearranged rapidly. He had been loyal to Darius, but not to Freyda. He _had_ been working for another state, at least since Darius was ended. And that explained how Texas got such detailed information about everything. It had been bugging me because Nikolai hadn’t had access to… Ah. Hmm. Nikolai. Had Stan sent him as a decoy for his true spy?

I looked at Jean-Luc, who was waiting patiently. “Nikolai?”

He shrugged. “Not ours. At least, not Stan’s.” Not that he wouldn’t have ended a Texan spy to protect his own ass.

“Then whose?”

“A trail of crumbs led to Texas, a false trail for Freyda.” And he couldn’t tell Freyda it was false without revealing his own loyalty to Texas. He added, “From what I could tell, all he did was get close to you.”

“Nadia’s then. So Freyda would distrust me.”

He grimaced. “Probably. Freyda was easily fooled. Nikolai may not have known who he was working for, or to what end.”

“Yes. He lacked the subtlety for anything delicate.” But he was blond, Russian, coarse… Nadia chose him to appeal to me.

“Yes. The rumours about you…” His tone was light, but his shoulders tensed. He was worried I’d been _fond_ of Nikolai.

“I appreciated his humour, nothing more.”

“Well, I wondered. You have such lousy taste in men. That gardener looked nothing like me.”

I choked back a surprised laugh. “You checked?”

“Of course! Mon Dieu, a man has his pride. How could you think I was that ugly? The guy had buck teeth.”

Isabel supressed a smile. Who knew he had a sense of humour? He’d played his part too well. I’d thought that stick was well and truly lodged up his ass. I shook my head at him. “You French are so vain.”

He grinned. “Annoyed the fuck out of Freyda though. Well played.”

I smirked. “You _played_ with her more than I did.”

He grimaced. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

We both sobered and I gave him a thoughtful look. “You were loyal to Darius.”

“I was a fool not to see through Freyda’s plans in time to save him. It is my biggest regret.” He shook his head, looked at me seriously, and bowed. “I regret the necessity of deceiving you.”

“You have a talent for it, and it was very necessary.” I smiled slightly and nodded in return. “Besides, I enjoyed our sparring.”

He seemed satisfied with that, and turned to Isabel. I took that as my cue, and joined Pam on one of the couches. The kings were gossiping about the trial.

“Kentucky seemed relaxed.” Indiana did too, shirt sleeves rolled and arms spread across the back of the couch. Mississippi sat at the other end in an immaculate suit, legs crossed neatly. Complete opposites.

Texas nodded. “I had a good view form the stage. Tennessee was tense.”

“He is one who would not agree with your arguments. Stuck in the past. And he is greedy,” Russell said as he fussed with his expensive watch, and Pam shot me an amused look. Ah, that watch.

Isabel gracefully took a seat next to Stan, and Jean-Luc stood beside her and caught my attention. “Eric, you forgot to ask me to go easy on Boscombe.”

I shrugged.

He grinned wolfishly, as he had before we fought the Weres. “I will tell him you spoke eloquently for his life, but my heart was set on revenge. He is going to pay for his part in ending Darius once we get back to Oklahoma. At least for a few nights.” He kissed Isabel’s hand and left.

There was a short pause. Bartlett was watching me intently, but Russell spoke first. “So, everything is finished. Justice is served, n’est-ce pas? Or it will be once Eric is done tonight.”

Stan looked at me. “Still waiting?”

“Let her stew for a while.”

He nodded. “It has turned out well.”

Bartlett’s deep voice was quiet as he announced, “Except that Nadia was right.” Isabel was a little surprised, but Russell and Stan were not.

“How so?” Isabel asked politely.

Bartlett was still watching me. “Felipe is weak. The last thing the region needs is more bloodshed, but Louisiana is too tempting.”

Stan agreed. “Yes, Felipe cannot hold it against a serious challenge.”

Russell snorted. “And the prick just advertised his lack of funds to all and sundry. That compensation claim was lunacy.”

I was gauging the balance of power between them, and where they were going with this. They were right; de Castro had erred with his claim. I looked between them thoughtfully. “Iowa deliberately exposed his weakness with her questions.”

Bartlett nodded, and Russell put in, “And everyone knows he was careless enough to get ambushed in his own territory.”

Stan swirled his bottle of blood, looking down at it. “He is ripe for a takeover.”

I met Bartlett’s hazel eyes. He searched mine for a long second. “Stan was also right. We need leaders with strength and reason.”

Oh shit.

Stan leant back, and turned to Isabel, “You are inheriting a well ordered state, are you not?”

Isabel looked between them, and answered cautiously. “Yes, it seems so. The finances are strong, the security is good. Once I replace Nadia’s bad apples…”

Russell was buffing his fingernails. “Northman has proved competent to rule, if that was in any doubt.”

Double shit. The flood of excitement from Pam was aggravating, and I slammed our connection shut.

Stan spelt it out. “You have our support Eric.”

I managed to sound calm and keep my face smooth. “Why me?”

“Amun is fragmented, lacking the co-operation we have in Zeus. We need like-minded allies, ones that are flexible, prepared to drag vampire into this century by their fangs and force them to let go of the old ways.” Stan knew I agreed with him on that.

Pam could not contain herself, and opened her mouth. I cut her off with a look so harsh, she bowed her head meekly.

Bartlett drilled his eyes into mine again. “Ocella is gone. You have no obligations, no excuse to duck the responsibility.”

Stan leant forward. “Think about it, Eric.”

“A reluctant king is not what you want.” I’d been reluctant enough for the last three years.

Russell chuckled. “Oh my dear, reluctant rulers are always the best. The eager ones are all greedy, grasping scum.”

I didn’t need this right now. I wanted time to myself. To get away, get over… And it would have to be done soon, to catch de Castro with his metaphorical pants down. Shit.

But if it wasn’t me … Pam would be at risk. Fuck.

“I will consider it.” The words tasted like ash. I’d said the same thing to Freyda so many times during our ‘negotiations’.

“Good. You have two weeks to think it over.” Bartlett smiled. “Now, shall we discuss the latest on the Chosen?”

…

They talked for half an hour about the paramilitary group, their new strategies and other upcoming threats. I listened more than I spoke. Tooth n’ Claw came up a few times, and Stan mentioned Daisy Riverstone. Pam took great delight in remarking that I’d fucked one of her powerful ancestors, adding I had a thing for strong women. Stan gave her an amused look that said that was no surprise to him, and she shut up.

Russell steered us back to gossip from the trial. I tucked away some snippets about Amun. The new king of Ohio was relatively unknown, but seemed to be holding his own. Wisconsin had clearly favoured de Castro, and they assumed some financial connection.

I didn’t mention my suspicion that Bill was involved or how. It wasn’t good to reveal your hand early, and if I took Louisiana, he would be my asset. Try as I might to reject their suggestion, my mind kept throwing up strategies and possibilities.

After a slight lull, Russell asked with a twinkle in his eye, “So Eric, how did you meet the lovely Ms Kingfisher?”

“Around,” I answered, deliberately vague.

He leaned forward eagerly. “She can mask her scent. How does she taste?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

He slumped back and pouted. “You didn’t taste her? Damn.”

“She has defences. And it’s not wise to piss off a healer.” That should deterred the curious, not that I thought Russell was about to track her down for her blood. It didn’t come in the right packaging.

Russell huffed, denied juicy gossip, and Bartlett gave him an affectionate look. Then he gave me a shrewder perusal. “There is something between you though. A debt perhaps?”

I relaxed back into the chair. I wasn’t going admit that I’d thanked her and obligated myself to her. “Perhaps.”

“A testimonial seems a small repayment for the healing. But you have other fae connections, do you not?”

Damn, he knew or suspected more than I wanted to reveal. But then if I was playing king-maker, I’d want to know everything about my favoured candidate too.

“I have some connections, yes.” I bid low.

“Influential connections. To Brigant himself I believe.” He bid high. Fuck.

I feigned nonchalance. “We have an understanding, exchange favours. I have known him for some time.”

“He has influence. Enough to arrange your healing. Why?” He wanted to know what I had on Brigant or more importantly what Brigant had over me. A potential king indebted to the fae – not good.

“We exchange favours, as I said.” I was not going to reveal the connection to Sookie.

Russell tilted his head. “The telepath is fae, very distantly.” Ah. He’d tasted her in Jackson. I had forgotten.

I shrugged.

Bartlett frowned. “She is recent. Your history with Brigant pre-dates her.” I nodded; pleased he seemed to be discounting her. “Who owes who currently in this little exchange?”

“We are even. The Prince has always been reasonable in his _requests_.” I emphasised they were requests, that I didn’t owe any sort of obedience to him and he had no sway over me. That did not go over as well as I expected. There was a short silence.

Stan cleared his throat. “He wouldn’t know. It’s too recent.”

I frowned. “I am aware the portals are open.”

Stan sat forward. “You have seen Brigant recently?”

“Yes.”

Russell snorted. “You can’t be that _favoured_ then.”

Stan turned to Isabel. “You also need to be aware of the current fae situation.”

I sat forward and bit back my annoyance with Brigant to ask calmly but firmly, “What situation?”

Stan answered, “Brigant is no longer Prince.”

Fuck. What did that mean for Sookie?

Russell put in, “They’ve put a council in place instead. He’s stepped down. Or been demoted.”

Pam hissed. “Arrogant fucker didn’t act like it.”

Fuck. Breandan’s faction had attacked Sookie fairly recently, if they had gained ground… “What sort of council?” I asked sharply.

Bartlett elaborated. “I believe the fae have resurrected their original system. It has representatives from all the fae clans, and even a few lesser races. Their civil war is over.”

“I see.” I sat back deep in thought. “And there is no Prince?”

“No. Brigant is now their Envoy for North America. There are others for other regions. Brigant is to be our point of contact. Crossings between the realms are tightly controlled for now. This was announced officially to the clans ten days ago, and the decision was made to keep the news to the clans and monarchs.”

I nodded to confirm I understood that telling me was a favour, and I would keep it quiet. I could be annoyed that Niall hadn’t said anything, but our meeting had been brief, with others present. He was always a law unto himself anyway.

Shortly afterwards, Isabel excused herself to leave for her new kingdom, and I nodded to Stan. It was almost time.

…

Russell and Bartlett excused themselves and Stan called for some donors. He took a busty redhead into a bedroom with Pam, while I stayed in the main room with a beefy donor. Thankfully this guy was quiet, and his blood rich. I drank and dismissed him quickly, my mind on other things. Pam’s was not judging by the noises from the bedroom.

Stan emerged, pink and sated, closing the door behind him. He picked up his jacket from the chair, and cast my jeans and t-shirt an envious glance. I chuckled and he gave me a baleful look. “Enjoy the freedom while you can.”

I stopped chuckling.

Stan brushed down his lapels, and looked up to catch my serious expression. “Don’t look so grim, Eric. Not having to answer to anyone is very agreeable.”

“I could have that without a kingdom. Monarchs still to answer to one another and the clans.”

He shrugged. “We will find someone else then. But you are our first choice, make no mistake.”

“You trust me?”

“Enough. Bartlett is sure of you, which is high praise.” A noise from the bedroom made him turn, and the donor emerged. I caught the sound of a shower before she pulled the door shut. She straightened her clothes and smiled at Stan as she left. When he turned back to me, he was wary.

“I hope you don’t object…” He cast a glance towards the closed bedroom door.

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking permission? You’re lucky she’s in the shower. She’ll have your balls.”

He grimaced. “I had to ask. Some makers–”

I shook my head. “It’s her business.”

“Yes, she said that you don’t interfere.” He paused. “I didn’t take advantage when she needed my help. This started before you left. Before Miriam.”

I blinked. That he knew about Miriam was a mark of Pam’s trust – or how lonely she’d been, I thought with a stab of guilt. “What is between you, Stan?” She would have my balls for asking too, but the shower was still going.

“Respect. She has mine. And a little fun. That’s all.”

“Good.” I smirked. “She likes fun.”

…

Stan took us to another warehouse, an ex-abattoir by the smell, in a district that was quiet at this time of night – three hours to dawn. Plenty of time.

The building was well guarded, but a nod from Stan got us admitted. As Stan led us down a cold corridor, a guard came around a corner and halted abruptly. The tall dark vampire was familiar and wide-eyed as we drew closer.

He swallowed, and bowed to Stan. “Your majesty.”

I stopped. “Salvatore.”

“Cons…” He straightened his shoulders and started again. “Eric. Before you send me after Vittorio, I beg a favour.”

“I’m not going to end you.”

“I… But I …” He stopped, unwilling to mention that he’d beaten me to a pulp.

I shrugged. “You believed me responsible for Vittorio’s death. I would have done the same.” If Ocella had given me a sane brother I liked, that is. “What favour do you ask?”

He was still a little wary, but relieved. “Give that bitch hell for Vittorio.”

I chuckled. “You don’t have to ask for that.” I turned to Stan, who had been watching with interest and spoke in Polish. “ _He is capable. Sharp tongued, but observant._ ”

“ _Why would you kill him?”_

“ _Freyda let him take some revenge for his brother. Broken bones, nothing unforgivable enough to waste a useful vampire.”_

Stan chuckled. _“You think like a king already.”_

I hissed in annoyance, which made Salvatore nervous. “Let’s get on with this.”

…

The room smelt of disinfectant. White tiles, sluices and drains brought memories that I ruthlessly supressed. Two guards stood inside, Texas and Pam watched through a one-way window. Everything I’d asked for was there: the wood, the tools, the haunch of meat, the large orange machine.

I ran my hand along the cold metal as I walked past the business end – a gaping maw yawning towards Nadia, just as I’d asked.

A wood chipper.

Nadia was shoeless, but still dressed in her finery. The long gown was torn and dusty, so she’d struggled or the guards were heavy handed. Her arms were pulled straight and cuffed to the wall. The silver clashed horribly with her jewellery.

She watched me without expression as I placed a stool a few feet in front of her, out of her reach, and then nonchalantly strolled over to her.

I had to hold her wrist still to find the clasp on her thick gold bracelet. I tutted as she struggled. “Nadia, Nadia. Gold and silver together. Queens should never clash.” I removed the bracelet, and then reached for her necklace. She hissed and lunged trying to get her fangs to me, but I grabbed her neck to hold her off, and pinned her legs to the wall with one of mine. I took a firm grasp of the necklace and tugged, pulling the broken chain from her neck. “Now look. I had to snap it,” I admonished.

I stepped back and examined the pieces, ignoring her hiss. It was like her to want to go down looking like a queen. That she’d chosen these to wear tonight meant they had some significance to her, and that meant I could guess their provenance with my eyes shut.

“Not good quality, high carat though. Hmm. Old by the style.” I looked up at her; she was pissed but trying to hide it. “Sentimental value then. Family heirlooms?”

I waited but she refused to speak. I played with the chains absently. Time to provoke her. “Not from your human family. Not old enough. And they wouldn’t have such riches, not your people, not Berbers, second class citizens in a Caliphate built on their blood and sweat.”

She hissed. “They had riches. Until your people came. You Norse are all the same – common thieves. Gold, gems, you grab whatever you see. Then you slaughter to cover your shame. Stinking savages. ” She bit off her words, and got control of herself again.

I chuckled. “Nadia, you are stuck in the past. That time is gone. But you wore these tonight, they are important.” Enough toying with her. “A gift from Tariq.”

She hissed. “Do not speak his name. Another you murdered for gold.”

I shrugged. “If he had gold, I never saw it. Ocella killed him. You know that. And not for gold.”

I sat on the stool and waited. I knew she would give in to her curiosity.

All those hours of pain and blood with her: she thought she was breaking me, stripping me down, but at the same time she was bearing herself to me, down to her bones. I knew the bitterness in her marrow. Her maker’s death haunted her. It had driven her for centuries; she was consumed by it, by his loss and her craving for vengeance.

“If not for gold, then why?” She spat out the words resentfully.

“Ocella was a jealous maker.”

She sneered. “You lie. Tariq would never take you as a lover.”

I stretched my legs out lazily. “No, we weren’t lovers. Tariq was very knowledgeable. He taught me Arabic, and Turkish. And mathematics. He was a good teacher. Ocella was jealous of the time we spent together.”

She blinked.

“Ocella could see the value in me acquiring such knowledge, but thought it was beneath him. So he allowed my lessons at first. But when we began discussing philosophy and religion, became friends, Ocella couldn’t stand it.”

She hissed. “You were not his friend. My maker would never–”

“Treat a barbarian like me as an equal? He treated you as an equal. And his people called yours Berbers, barbarians, did they not?”

She glared at me. “Liar. You insult his memory. You are the one who is jealous. Jealous because your maker was a filthy pig, a brute, who treated you like dirt, like a slave. How did it feel when he sold you to a queen so far beneath you, sold you, his perfect creation, for a pittance?” She cackled. “And all to protect your defective brother. He valued that deviant Russian over you.”

I grinned at her. “And after three short years Alexei, Ocella and Freyda are all gone and I am free. You lost Nadia. You didn’t even get to punish Ocella.”

“He’s gone. It is enough.”

“Is it? But you planned so much misery for him. You never got to torture him through Alexei or force him to command me to serve you. You didn't get to have Ocella in your grasp, watching as you built an empire, helpless as you took his children from him, as you destroyed me and ended Alexei. You had such plans, such magnificent plans to make Ocella suffer over and over for Tariq's death.”

“But you failed Tariq, Nadia. You failed to avenge your beloved maker. Ocella died happy.”

He died gleeful, in fact. He was in pain, resigned to following Alexei, but he wanted Sookie alive to see me sold to Freyda, alive so I would suffer leaving her behind – his final bitter lesson for me. Saving Sookie, feeling my gratitude for that even when I knew he was only doing it to twist the knife, filled him with spiteful glee in his last moments.

Nadia was a rank amateur next to him. He was an expert at psychological torture.

“Wh-what?”

“I was there. I felt it. Ocella made his peace with death. Alexei was gone, and he had secured a position for me. He never knew your plans, never tasted defeat. He was content, Nadia. You failed.”

She stared at me. “No. No. You lie.”

I shrugged. “It’s the truth.” I stood, pocketing the chains. “Let’s take five. Pam loves gold; I want her to have these.” I walked away, patting the wood chipper again on the way past.

I paused and turned back. “By the way, what was Boscombe’s reward? He never said. Arkansas?”

She hissed at the confirmation he had betrayed her, and to me too. I bowed mockingly.

I joined Pam and Texas in the observation room. I sat and waited for about fifteen minutes until Nadia’s shoulders slumped slightly. It was hurting her deeply that she hadn’t avenged her maker as she’d wished. Good. I gave her ten minutes more for the sense of defeat to really start eating at her.

…

I went back into the room, and over to the table of tools, choosing a suitable pair of pliers.

“It is time to begin, Nadia. I’m afraid Pam is picky about jewellery. Your gold was not up to her standards.”

I flashed to her, pinning her against the wall by her throat. I squeezed until her jaw opened and took the first fang, twisting it first to pull it cleanly. I wiped it on her dress and put it between my teeth, freeing the pliers to pull the second. Again I wiped it on her dress and stepped back quickly.

She spat as I released her, but I already was out of range. I inspected the fangs. “Pam prefers ivory. Perhaps mounted in the gold. These will do nicely.” I took out a handkerchief, wrapped them carefully and pocketed them.

She hissed, but the effect was somewhat comical.

“Nadia, say it, don’t spray it. Now your lovely gown is ruined.”

“Go ahead. Rip it off. Take your revenge the way of all bastards.”

I laughed. Loudly. “Oh Nadia, I still don’t want to fuck you.”

“If you’re not man enough, I’m sure the guards are up to it.” Her goading was a tactic to delay her acquaintance with the tray of tools and Mr Chipper.

I stepped closer and lowered my voice. “Nadia, Nadia. I am not like you. I do not need to rape you. You are already powerless and we both know it. Soon you will be dust, and I will walk out of here. Now let’s cut to the chase. I don’t have the luxury of twelve nights to tease.”

To rub it in, I gave her my back and chuckled quietly as she struggled to kick me as I walked away.

I beckoned one of the guards over, and we made a show of going over the controls and running down the statistics. How much wood, how fast, etc. Nadia looked like she wanted to put her fingers in her ears.

Steeling myself for the noise, I started it up. It was loud, but not too loud to talk over.

“Let’s try the wood.”

I had him tie a bag over the chute. We fed a few fence posts into it, so Nadia could see. Filled the trash bag, and showed her the splinters. She held herself still, her face a mask.

“I need to test it with flesh and bone.” I uncovered the haunch of beef and threw it in, steeling myself. The machine whined and groaned, but it coped. I brought Nadia the bag of remains, ground up meat and bone, lifted some and crumbled it in front of her face. It smelt awful. She gagged. I dropped the bag at her feet so she could enjoy the smell, and wiped my hand on her dress for good measure.

I sighed, and frowned at the machine in mock concern. “I don’t know. Our flesh is different. I don’t want it to jam when she’s half way.”

I went to the table of tools, and made a great show of choosing a pair of bolt-cutters as I slipped a second item into the back of my jeans out of Nadia’s sight. I brought the cutters over to Nadia, and forced her right hand flat against the wall. I neatly took her index finger at the base, ignoring the gush of blood, the hoarse shout and stream of curses she let out.

When she was concentrating again, I threw the severed finger neatly into the hopper without looking, watching her face. The sound changed slightly as it went through the blades. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. She was practically vibrating with fear. Perfect.

In Oklahoma I had refused to beg for my end, no matter what she tried. But I told her many times that I would make her grateful for her death at my hand.

I slipped the stake from my jeans and had it implanted an inch into her chest before she noticed. She looked down and up again into my eyes, hers wide with surprised recognition and … yes. There it was.

Gratitude.

My fangs snapped down. I smiled widely, leant in and kissed her hard, nicking my tongue and mixing our blood, tasting the fear, relief and gratitude in hers.

I pulled back and said, as if she’d thanked me out loud, “You’re welcome Nadia.”

I paused long enough for her to realise I’d fulfilled my promise. Her eyes flashed, and she let out a scream of denial and rage.

Then I rammed the stake home, snarling over her: “For Karin.”

I stepped back to watch her eyes dull, her face freeze, her body crumble and implode, licking my lips clean of her blood and savouring the sweet taste of victory.

I basked in it for as long as I could.

Then the smell of ground beef, the smell of her blood and the noise of the machine overwhelmed me. Instantly I was in another room, drowning in the smell of my own blood, the taste of my own flesh heavy on my tongue, pain everywhere. I collapsed to my knees, wrapping my arms around my head to block out the noise.

…

I was vaguely aware of Stan shouting at the guards to get out, and Pam standing protectively over me. “The noise,” I demanded weakly.

Stan cursed in the background and the whine died. I staggered to my feet and waved them both back, holding myself up on the hopper, desperately trying to will the shaking away. “A minute,” I muttered.

A few seconds later there was a pop, and I felt warm hands against my back. The shaking receded.

Rory. I recognised her scent as my mind cleared. I turned round to face her, still leaning on the machine for support.

She yelled at me then. “Genius Eric! Exactly the right conditions for a flashback. Why not reopen the wound! Congratulations. You deserve a Darwin award.”

I winced at the noise, but gave her a weak smirk. “Evolution hardly applies to vampires. And I’m not any deader than usual.”

“You’re not impervious Eric, shit will stick to you.” She looked at the tools with distaste. “What did you do to her?”

Fae were no strangers to torture. Perhaps she objected because of her calling?

Stan drawled. “Less than she deserved. And he still broke her. Magnificently.” He gave me a deep bow of respect, eyes twinkling.

Rory glared at me until I answered for myself. I gave in quickly, in no state to resist. “I took her fangs and a finger. Then I staked her.”

She snapped, “And what else?”

I shrugged. “Nothing else physical. But I made her taste her defeat. Here.” I tapped my temple.

She frowned, and looked me over intently. I got the distinct impression she was examining something invisible to the rest of us. Finally satisfied, she nodded to herself, and said grudgingly, “Could be worse. You'll live.”

Then she looked over at Nadia’s ashes with a malicious gleam in her eye. “Is that her? May I?”

“Go ahead.” I was staying put for the moment. Pam scowled at me, sensing my weakness – she hadn’t been happy about the wood chipper, and she obviously had Rory ready on speed dial.

I growled at her, “I needed to do it this way. For Karin.” And myself, I didn’t need to add.

Stan’s bark of laughter had us both turning to see Rory dancing enthusiastically in Nadia’s remains. I laughed.

Pam said curiously, “I’ve never seen someone actually do that.”

Rory gave a curtsey, grinning viciously, and stepped out of the cloud of ash she’d kicked up, stamping a few times to knock dust off her boots. “I’ve always wanted to do that. Worth ruining these boots on that sadistic cow.”

I chuckled, finally moving away from the chipper, feeling much better. “That must be why Pam never tried it.”

“I’d rather bathe in their blood. Good for the skin. Especially fae blood.” Pam gave Rory a fangy grin, and licked her lips.

Rory rolled her eyes and laughed. “See you back in Shreveport, Eric. Don’t forget that cream.” She winked and popped away.

Stan turned to Pam, still smiling. “She’s not that annoying. For a fae.”

Pam scowled. “You haven’t known her long enough, give it time. Let’s get out of here.”


	22. Damage Control

Friday arrived overcast and grey.

My bed was empty. The bathroom was cold. The house silent.

Overnight whilst I slept, the seriousness of my situation had sunk in. I woke up in a foul mood, stomach plummeting as it all hit me. Make a join in haste, repent at leisure, and boy was I repenting. I still didn’t understand exactly how I’d created the damn thing, but it was only too clear that it was affecting me, and affecting Sam even more adversely. And not in a ‘ _creating harmony_ ’ way.

And I still didn’t know a way to fix it. I hadn’t even got to ask about a solution yesterday. All I could do now was wait on Niall.

I hated waiting.

My mood matched the weather: dull, and miserable.

I was not looking forward to work, either. To pass the time after breakfast, which was oatmeal to fit my gloom, I took out my list. After my visitors yesterday, I knew weave was another name for join, I knew it had influenced us both, so I could cross a whole two questions off.

I put neat ticks by them instead. I wanted to double check with Niall, whenever he decided to show up. I sighed heavily.

Finally I headed to Merlotte’s. Pulling into the back lot, I registered Sam’s sleeping mind in the trailer, and for the first time two weres in the woods out back. Guards, I thought. Yep, as I stood looking in that direction Jack Norris loped into sight briefly and gave a quick wave. I guess they’d given up hiding from me now we’d been introduced.

I was early, but Kennedy arrived right after me and we headed inside. She stuck to neutral topics while we filled salt shakers and cleaned ketchup nozzles to fill the time until customers began to trickle in.

The delivery truck was late. I was at the back door waiting for it just before eleven when Sam emerged from his trailer.

“Hey, Sook.” he said when he’d crossed the lot. He gave me a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and I muttered good morning and hugged him. He was steadier today, less down on himself, more determined. Determined to keep control of himself.

Before we could say much else the truck arrived, and Sam turned away to deal with it. For a few minutes I stood out back, watching my wiry, strong husband unloading crates. I couldn’t pinpoint why I felt so wistful. Then Kennedy glided up to my elbow. I knew she was hanging around to keep an eye on how Sam was with me, but she didn’t show it. She gave me a few minutes before she said things were picking up and I was needed inside.

I turned away with a sigh. Nostalgia for more innocent days, that's what it was.

We were two waitresses down – Penny and one of the other mothers, the first winter cold had arrived – so I pitched in. The morning had been slow, but the lunch rush was absolutely hectic. I barely had time for myself, let alone any pointed questions or nasty thoughts about the brawl. Thankfully the big gossip that day was a shooting over in Monroe.

I didn’t see Sam, who seemed to be staying out back while Kennedy covered the bar.

Once things quieted Kennedy told me to go take a break before my feet fell off, which was sure what they felt like they were about to do. It had been a while since I’d waitressed and I hadn’t worn the best shoes.

As co-owner I usually wore my own clothes, and although I’d taken off my nice sweater, put on a spare Merlotte’s shirt over my tank and pulled my hair into a simple ponytail so everyone realised I was waitressing, I didn't have a spare pair of shoes so I was stuck with the uncomfortable ones I'd chosen.

I high-tailed it to the bathroom first.

Having dealt with the most urgent issue, I realised how hungry I was. I washed my hands, debating whether it was worth changing tops to eat when I’d need to change back again later. I decided in favour, wanting to eat out front and not look like a waitress, so I headed to the office to retrieve my sweater.

I stopped with my hand on the door, hearing a mumble of voices inside. Female voices. Sounding serious.

I reached out with my quirk and felt two familiar minds alongside Sam’s churning emotions.

Oh shit.

I had a moment of frozen panic, rapidly followed by a double shot of guilt and then a hot flush of pure rage.

I knew what they were here for even though I couldn't decipher their thoughts, what they’d told Sam. It could only be one thing.

I threw the door open and stalked in, ignoring the bang as it closed after me.

Sam looked up sharply from buttoning his shirt, but I hardly looked at him. Ludwig was rummaging in her bag, which sat on the end of Sam’s desk. She glanced over her shoulder at me and muttered under her breath as she turned back. My sweater, which I’d left folded neatly on my chair, was thrown carelessly on my desk to make room for the third person.

Rory effing Kingfisher. Sitting in my chair. At my effing desk. Looking a million dollars in a moss green knit dress, she had the nerve to nod hello at me like we were old friends.

I gritted me teeth in annoyance. We weren't _friends_. We’d spent a grand total of a few hours together, most of which she’d spent telling me how I felt about my own damn husband.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I snapped, letting anger wash away any sense or reason.

She said calmly, “After our conversation yesterday, Dr Ludwig and I were concerned about Mr Merlotte’s health.”

“What the hell happened to confidentiality?” I spat at her.

“This affects your husband. He needed to know.” She was cool as cucumber and I wanted to pound her stupid face until the seeds spilt out of her nose. I settled for spitting sarcasm at her.

“Oh of course, you’re just here to do the right thing, out of the goodness of your heart. Not to stir shit up at all.”

She narrowed her eyes, but kept her tone mild. “How would being _honest_ with your husband do that?”

I snorted. “Were you honest? You sure weren’t up front with Pam about whatever the heck you are. You keep turning up like a bad penny, sticking your nose where it’s not welcome. You seemed to be real interested in messing things up for me. Because it sure as hell looks like you're here to fuck with my marriage.”

“Why would I? I have my own life.”

“But here you are, so clearly you don't. Eric not keeping you busy enough? Get the fuck out of my chair.”

She rose gracefully, and spoke quietly to Sam who'd crossed his arms over his chest and was glowering at the floor. “She did it to save your life, remember that.” He didn't look up.

Then she stepped out from behind the desk, and into my space. I held my ground, meeting her stare as I pushed at her mind. Behind those green eyes it buzzed with energy, vibrating like a pneumatic drill, and trying to lock on to it made my teeth ache.

She shook her head. “Don't pry. You don't need to see what I see when I look at your husband. Let it go.” She brushed past me, and out of the room.

I was still fuming but the only sensible target I could lash out at was gone. I took a few deep breaths and fielded a ferocious glare from Ludwig that washed away my temper like a bucket of ice water.

Shit. She was pissed, and scary.

She looked between us and shook her head in disapproval. Sam was locked up tight, I couldn’t feel a thing from him, and he was still boring a hole in the floor.

“Merlotte. You should talk to your wife,” she said, far less harshly than she’d scowled at me.

He flicked his eyes at me quickly, and his jaw clenched. “Not yet. I need…” He took a breath and ran a hand through his hair, sucked in another lungful that hissed angrily as he let it out again. “Later. The trailer. Six o’clock.”

And then he walked out, face hard and deliberately not looking at me.

Suddenly finding it difficult to breathe myself, I turned to Ludwig.

“What did you tell him?” It came out thin and plaintive.

“What he needed to know.” Her scowl relaxed a little. “I gave him something to damp his shifting. He'll be less volatile by six but don't push him.”

“Is he okay?” I asked, knowing he was a thousand miles from okay, not even on the same continent.

She shrugged. “Ask him.” She heaved her bag off the desk and left.

…

Kennedy stuck her head in a few minutes later, surprised and a little relieved to find me alone. I begged a headache and she left me to it. I sat clutching my sweater for a good hour, trying to think.

Sam had taken off, Lord knows where.

I kept going back to the hard look on his face. I'd never seen him like that, not with me.

I told myself it was good that he knew about the join. That it would lift some of the burden he'd been carrying for his behaviour the last few days. His reaction was understandable; I'd been shocked when I found out too. We would talk and face this together.

But that optimism rang hollow and every time I replayed the hardness in his eyes dread rose up in me.

I don't know how I got through the rest of my shift.

Kennedy shot me furtive glances all afternoon, suggesting I take another break a few times until I snapped at her. I was edgy, the tension I felt ratcheting higher as the time to face Sam approached. As the windows darkened, I mixed up a few orders, and fumbled a tray of drinks, slopping beer on the floor when someone stood up suddenly and startled me.

At last it was almost six.

I boxed up a burger Lafayette and some fries to take over: I figured Sam hadn't eaten and it couldn't hurt to feed my man. I hadn't eaten a thing myself, but I was sure I'd throw up if I tried. Terry turned up to cover the bar as I was leaving, and the muddled conversation over whose shift it was and how Sam wasn’t coming back distracted Kennedy. She frowned at the food I was carrying, but I didn’t give her a chance to ask what was going on.

I stepped out into the dark lot, and sure enough Sam's truck was parked by the trailer. He'd left the little outside light on for me. I reached out mentally as I walked over: his swirl of emotions cutting off abruptly as he heard me coming.

I balanced the soda on top of the takeout box and knocked quietly. Sam opened the door, glanced down and took the food from my hands. “Come in,” he said quietly. He smelt of the woods, damp leaves and earth; he'd found some quiet spot to take comfort in nature even if he couldn't shift.

The trailer – or as Tara called it, the man cave – was pretty much the same as it was when Sam was a bachelor. Except that he only kept beer and snacks in the place now, and it had a bigger, newer TV and a new fold-out couch for anyone crashing after poker night. Still had his dad's old recliner.

Sam put the food on the kitchen counter, and I took a seat on the new couch, folding my hands neatly in my lap. They were clammy.

He didn't sit next to me. He leant against the wall opposite, hands in his back pockets, as the awkward silence stretched out. He didn't look angry, nor did he look much like a man needing to talk, wanting answers. He looked like a man who'd made up his mind. Resolute.

I found it hard to look back at him, and stared at my hands. The silence weighed on me, like I was back in Rhodes holding that soda-can bomb: one wrong move and _Bang!_ – everything fades to black.

I jumped when he spoke.

His voice was emotionless. “I shouldn’t have had to find out from Ludwig. You should have told me. How long have you known?”

I swallowed. Which wire to cut: red or green? I needed a manual. Or some hint of what he'd been told. I glanced up, but nothing was written on his face, and the door to his mind was firmly shut. “Not long.”

He frowned. “How long?”

Wrong wire, Sook. I tried again. “A couple days.”

When his mouth tightened I added hastily, “Since Monday. Monday night.”

“You didn't tell me.”

I licked my lips. “I wasn't sure what it meant. I was trying to find out more about it.”

“But you didn't tell me,” he said doggedly.

“No.” I wished he'd just explode already and start yelling. The tension was oppressive.

“Not on Monday.”

“No. I should have. I can see that now, but–”

“Not Tuesday, when I felt terrible about hurting you.”

“I … I wasn't sure what had happened, if it was to blame for making you…”

“Violent. Murderous. A vicious wild beast. Take your pick, Sook.”

“No.” I shook my head in denial. “Not yourself,” I whispered, my dry eyes prickling painful, unable to form tears. I’d let him think those awful things about himself because I wasn’t ready to talk. I hadn’t considered his feelings as much as my own, hadn’t considered him first.

“But you didn't tell me. Not then, not when I lost it with Jason, not when I was in goddamn jail for the night, Sookie.”

I was beginning to get flickers of fury from him as his concentration slipped, cold focused anger. He moved off the wall then, taking a single quick step forward. I flinched and he stopped, paled, and closed his eyes briefly.

With a haunted expression on his face, he whispered, “You’re frightened of me.” Then, a little louder, he said, “I could have killed you. Or Jason. That would have broken me, Sook.”

“I know, I know. Everything happened so fast, I didn't get chance to…” I trailed off.

His disappointment was tangible, thickening the air as I tried to excuse the inexcusable. I had plenty of opportunity; at the jail, on the porch… I could have found a time to tell him, should have made one. He was right.

It was no use blaming lack of time, events getting in the way, the shitty manual, the booby traps. Too late. The clock was already counting, the fuse already lit. I’d fucked up: time to shut up and take the blast damage.

“We're supposed to be a team, Sook. Partners. But you don't, _won’t_ confide in me. You have to deal with everything yourself. Even when it affects me. Would you have told me today if Ludwig hadn't?”

He read the answer in my eyes, and shook his head, resigned. “No. I thought not. That's not good enough, Sook.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” I was willing him to believe I was sincere, to forgive me.

He closed his eyes, reining in his emotions and shutting me out again. “So, this fairy magic makes me miserable away from you. It's twisting my feelings, warping my actions. I don't know what's me and what isn't. I’ll never know. ” He opened his eyes. “Never know how things would have gone with you if I’d had a choice.”

I tensed. Did he mean he might not have married me? Did he regret it?

He ran a hand through his hair, a strange bittersweet expression on his face. “It's not like I didn't feel something for you, Sook. There’s always been something there on my side. But now I'll never know how deep it ran.”

Past tense. My heart thudded. I felt cold, sick.

He was talking as if we were over. It _was_ all the damn join; he hadn't loved me for real after all. Was this where it ended? I glanced at the bedroom, where we began. We'd come full circle. It _was_ bittersweet. Painfully.

He caught my glance, and my thought. “You remembering our first time, Sook? That’s been on my mind today. It seems awful strange looking back. I'd been avoiding you, and then all of a sudden…” He looked towards the bedroom. “It wasn't like you, like us. There wasn't even an ‘us’. Not before or for weeks afterwards while you kept me at arm’s length.”

He shook his head. “You fought it. You put up your walls and you fought it. You've always fought it. Maybe you can do that because you've got some fairy in you. But I can't and it's fucking unfair, Sook. You hold all the cards, call all the shots. And I’ve been trapped all along. You can walk away, but not me. It never meant as much to you, did it?”

How much had Rory told him? That I didn’t…? A painful lump rose in my throat.

I swallowed hard, and stammered out, “N-no, Sam. Our marriage means the world to me. I would never just walk away.”

“Really? Everything was peachy? Come on, Sook. You were so used our fights turning nasty, you didn't bat an eyelash when I almost broke your arms.”

“That was the magic. Not you.” I tried to sound firm, but my throat was full. He sounded so calm and reasonable. It clashed horribly with the remorse and loss seeping from him despite his valiant efforts to keep his feelings dammed up, hidden from me.

“So you weren't desperately unhappy? You didn't demand we see a therapist less than a week ago?”

“I… I was unhappy, but I wanted to make things work.”

“You didn't think maybe it shouldn't be that hard? That something was wrong, missing?” He was pushing, less calm, more hurt in his voice.

“I… I don't know what you mean. Marriage is supposed to need work.”

He shook his head. “But it shouldn’t be this hard. Sook, I did a lot of thinking today. Faced up to things I should have faced up to a long time ago. It shouldn't be getting harder every day.”

My reply came out in a rush, a panic. “It's the magic Sam. We can fix this. Break the join, take it away. Get everything back to normal. Niall’s looking for a solution.”

His eyes narrowed. “Niall? When did you see him?”

“He stopped by Tuesday.”

“You talked to _him_ about it.” I felt him check his anger, and he began pacing. “Someone you haven’t seen for three years. A guy that you don’t trust, who got you tortured in some stupid war. Did you tell him what a bad husband I am? How miserable you are?”

“No. No! I didn’t discuss anything personal at all.”

“But you asked him for help. You told him but you couldn’t tell me,” he muttered, turning away, fists balled.

“I… It’s fairy magic. I had to ask him.”

He didn’t turn round. “On your own. Without asking me first. Without even telling me what the fuck was wrong with me! That isn’t a marriage, Sook. That isn’t the way a wife should treat her husband.”

I gasped. He felt so disappointed. “Don’t leave me, Sam. Please.” The tears started. I twisted my hands in my lap. “Please Sam. I … I love you.”

He froze. His shoulders slumped, and a low, hollow laugh began to tear its way out of him, black hopeless laughter. Once the awful sound died, he turned, tears on his own cheeks. “I’ve waited so long to hear those words, Cher, so long. And now it’s too late.”

“Wh-what?”

He smiled sadly. “You’ve never said that you love me. I say it, and you just say ‘me too’. You’ve never said it first, never said it properly.”

“No, No. I must have. I – I’m sure I have.” I was dizzy, breath catching. Jumping Jehoshaphat: he was right, I hadn’t.

“Enough, Sook. It’s time to quit pretending. You don’t love me, not the right way, the way a wife should. I’ve always known that, I just fooled myself into believing it would come in time. It was easy when you agreed to be mine, married me. Easy to hope for what I wanted. Or what the magic made me want.” He laughed wryly. “Jesus, I don’t even know anymore. What a mess.”

I was sniffing by then. And slightly annoyed when I felt rueful amusement from him a second later. “What?”

“Mom was right. She kept saying that fae women are sirens, that I couldn’t think straight around you. You really do have a hold on me.” He smiled wryly. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

Fuck. Bernie. I moaned, “Oh God Sam, she’ll never forgive me. What are we going to do?”

“We?” he said bitterly. “Sook, I can’t pretend any more. Not now I’ve had my nose rubbed in the truth.”

“What are you saying Sam? This is it? You want a divorce?”

He flinched, and I felt a stab of pain from him. He ran his hand through his hair again, desperate. “I don’t know. I need to think. Without any fairy mojo.”

He looked at me. I blinked back tears and whispered, “Sam, don’t…”

He said firmly, “You have to leave.”

“Fine.” I stood, hurt by his curt dismissal and fiercely determined not to show it. I wiped my face with as much dignity as I could, and steeled myself to walk out with my head high. He crossed his arms and refused to look at me.

I’d got to the door when his quick footsteps sounded behind me and strong familiar hands grabbed my shoulders. I gasped as he turned me and pressed me up against the door.

He kissed me. Hard and passionate, desperate on both our parts, him pressing his whole body against me, cupping my face in his hands, mine clutching the back of his shirt, hauling him closer to feel his heat. He was flooding me with his emotions and snatches of thoughts; overwhelming me with his love, admiration and affection; and sending images of me in the sun, laughing with friends, sleeping in our bed. All infused with what he felt for me.

He kissed me until an undercurrent of sadness began to rise in him. He pulled away, gently wiping my cheeks.

“Did you ever feel the same?” he whispered.

I shook my head slowly, my heart breaking for him. I said in a choked whisper, “I’m so sorry.”

He smiled crookedly, eyes shining. “Go home, Sookie.”

…

Saturday announced its arrival with a loud banging that set off a pounding echo in my head.

I was not amused to find myself even half-awake. All night long I'd grieved for Sam, for me, for our marriage, drifting off fitfully between bouts of intense emotion.

Oh, I’d inhaled a very generous glass of Sam’s whisky when I got home last night, hands shaking as I poured it, still strung out from our heart-wrenching conversation and lips still swollen from one heck of a goodbye. But alcohol consumption wasn't responsible for my morning-after desire to crawl into a dark hole, dragging my headache, swollen eyes and raw throat along for company.

Nope, the culprits were heartbreak, dehydration and their triplet exhaustion. They were lovely siblings.

I squinted at the clock, my face sore and sticky with salt, the pillow damp. It was far too early for visitors.

I staggered reluctantly out of bed, pulling my robe on as I padded down the hallway hollering testily, “I'm coming, hold your horses.” Ouch, that hurt. I sounded like a bag of gravel.

The banging stopped, so straining my throat was worth it. I muttered more gently, “Good. No need to bust the damn door down.”

I unbolted the door, and pulled it open with a mouthful of cuss words burning my tongue for the person who'd woken me up.

Shit.

Bernie. Stone-faced.

And behind her Sam’s truck, Sam slumped in the passenger seat.

Before I could speak Bernie flicked her eyes over me. The glare she gave me might have had some impact if I hadn’t felt like crap scraped off someone’s shoe already.

Fine. If that’s how she wanted it. I pulled my robe tight, and cinched the belt against the cold. Then, barefoot, I moved forward forcing her to step back and allow me past. I ignored her completely and slipped on the boots I kept on the porch for gardening while she stood watching, arms folded.

I marched over to the truck. Even with the overcast sky, I had to squint against the light, my eyes aching. I could feel the mother-in-law death-glare burning into my back.

Sam was staring blindly ahead. I rapped on the window, and he jumped half-heartedly. He was in a state. The acrid, unpleasant smell of last night’s liquor washed over me as he lowered the window.

“Why is Bernie here, Sam?”

He swallowed, and kept his eyes on the dash. “Mom turned up last night, ’bout midnight. She heard I‘d been in jail, about the fight with Jason.”

My, my, Bon Temps gossip certainly spread far, didn’t it? I said hoarsely, “Uh-huh. Who?”

“Maxine, I guess.”

I sighed. Maxine had got into scrap-booking a while ago and swapped numbers with Bernie. No good had come of it.

“What did you tell Bernie Sam?”

He swallowed again. “I was three sheets gone, Sook.”

“So, everything then.” I thought bitterly: if there was ever a third person in this marriage, it was Bernie, not Eric.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

I snorted. “So what did she decide you should do?”

Because he had no more cylinders firing than I did right now, so obviously whatever they were here for was Bernie’s idea. Why wouldn’t she just waltz in and take command of her adult son’s life? His hair was wet, damp spreading on his shirt. I had a sudden picture of her actually hosing him down to get him here.

He sighed. “I need some space, Sook. She’s just trying to help.”

“You’re moving out?” I was hurt, but not surprised. He had packing boxes in the back.

He looked down at his lap and said softly, “Yeah. I think it’s for the best.”

I took a minute or two. When I was holding it together again, I tried for a smile, and asked shakily, “Have you eaten? I could make something while you pack.” Cooking might just keep me upright until they left.

He nodded. “That’s mighty gracious, Sook.”

No, it would be awkward, mighty awkward.

And it was, especially when I didn’t make a plate for Bernie. Especially when she sat with us anyway, as if Sam needed protecting, glowering at me and deliberately aiming thoughts at me: I’d manipulated her son, he deserved better.

When she began wondering whether Jason’s aggression and stupidity came from his fairy side or his nasty inbred Hotshot bitten-were side, I shut her out, plastered on a brave face and sipped my coffee. Sam was quiet, and I concentrated on the pleasure I got from watching him enjoy my cooking. It was a small thing to cling to, and he wolfed down his biscuits and gravy far too quickly. One minute I just wanted Bernie gone, the next they both were.

I cleared the dishes, and then I spotted his house keys. He’d taken them off his key ring and left them neatly on the kitchen counter by the phone. I picked them up and clenched my hand round them, feeling the cold metal digging into my palm, the brutal finality of it.

I wandered the house in a daze. He’d taken most of his clothes. The bathroom looked weird with just my things, just one toothbrush.

Empty.

The drawers he used. His closet. The house. Me.

I’d run out of tears. I sat on the bed for a while before I sighed deeply and picked up my phone.

“Hi, it’s Sookie St– Merlotte. Sorry to call so early. I think I might need that advice.”

…

Fortunately Mr C was in Shreveport. Unfortunately, that meant he wanted to talk in person and that only gave me an hour or so to spruce myself up from ‘walking corpse’ to ‘pale but still breathing’. I showered, brushed my hair, chose my clothes with care and made up my face, covering my brittle state with a thin veneer of good grooming, a shield to get through this.

When the half-demon arrived he put down his briefcase and took my hand in both of his. He squeezed sympathetically. “How are you?”

“Devastated, to be honest. But it's not out of the blue. I just need to know what my options are, if,” I paused. “If things don't work out.”

He nodded and patted my hand. We sat at the kitchen table as usual, and he asked a lot of questions, taking a few notes. He was calm and matter-of-fact which helped enormously.

He explained that, if we both agreed, the easiest option was separating for six months then filing for divorce. If things didn't go smoothly and either one of us contested it, it would get more complicated.

Louisiana was a community property state, and I got the gist of what that meant. I'd owned the house outright before the wedding so it would stay mine, which was something I hadn't even begun to consider. The thought of losing it gave me a cold chill. My part-share of Merlotte's and the money from my fairy kin shouldn't 'be at risk', as he put it, for the same reason. But that was just an idea of what I was entitled to if the court divided our assets, Sam and I could come to our own agreement.

And there should be no issues for me because Sam was a registered shifter. I asked, and he said the government might record it for their statistics, but that's all. He muttered something about losing a buffer, but not to worry because I had other protection. Reminded again that I was the last to know about that, I’d stiffened, and changed the subject.

I gave him a sketchy outline of the join as I understood it, in the hope he might know something I could do.

“Old Fae customs are not my field, my dear. And you say that it seems to have compelled Mr Merlotte to, ah, look on you more favourably than he would have done?”

“Yeah, I guess. I don’t really know all the details. Dr Ludwig talked to Sam about it yesterday. Along with another healer, Rory Kingfisher.”

“Ah, the talented Miss Kingfisher, yes.” Huh, guess they'd met then. She sure got around. “Hmm. And I take it Mr Merlotte did not take the news well?”

“No, not really. That's sort of what precipitated him moving out.”

“Ah. Did he feel … How to put this … unduly influenced to enter the marriage?”

“Um. Maybe.”

“Well, it wasn’t something you did knowingly or maliciously, and Mr Merlotte is a reasonable man. It should have no bearing on proceedings.”

That gave me pause. I'd seen divorce make reasonable people bitter, seen the sweetest couples fight tooth and nail when they became exes. Especially when they had encouragement.

“Sam is pretty easy going, well, normally, but his mom…”

“Ah. Hmm. She might cause trouble you think?”

I shrugged. “She’s definitely not my biggest fan today.” Not that she’d ever been.

“Hmm. I supposed she might encourage Mr Merlotte to petition for compensation on the grounds he did not enter the marriage freely.”

“What? How? No-one knows about fairies, let alone the Cluviel Dor.”

“Ah. Not in the human courts. He could appeal to Niall.”

I frowned. “There's a supe court?”

“Nothing so formal. But there are avenues to pursue in contract disputes. Marriage is basically a contract, after all.”

I remembered the cases I saw at the summit. “You mean like the panel Bill sat on in Rhodes?”

“Yes, vampires have a well-developed system to handle disputes.”

“What about other supes?”

“Weres have packmasters and now the caucus. Shifters are more problematic as what little organisation they have they are secretive about and approaching the individual at fault is rarely successful in these things. With fae and demons complaints are usually decided by the head of the kin group.”

“But…” Wow. He was actually explaining things. I was a bit bemused though. I thought of all the trouble with the Pelts, the Fae war I got caught up in, could I have…?

“Ah, violence is generally dealt with by more immediate retribution.” His eyes glinted, perhaps at the memory of avenging his niece’s death. “Regarding your experiences with the fae, the death of the perpetrators usually ends matters, especially during war. Of course, that is moot anyway. It would have been impossible to petition the fae yourself as a human. Only the vampire courts, and more recently the Were system, are avenues available to humans.”

Nope, even after I replayed what he just said, I couldn't detect a taunt at my persistent rejection of my fairy-ness. Even though being a mere human put me at a legal disadvantage in the supe world, on top of the physical one I had all too painfully experienced. I let that slide.

“It will be interesting to see how the vampire system evolves now it is open to the humans.”

“Uh-huh.” Open was a relative thing – those rulings from Rhodes weren’t published in any newspaper. “What about the Pelts?” Was there some kind of supe restraining order I could have taken out?

He smiled at my thought. “I’m afraid not. If you had appealed to the Pelts’ packmaster, I doubt they would have abided by his decision. And they might have raised a counter-complaint against you, but you would have been acquitted for self-defence.”

Oh. Right. He meant _they_ could have raised a case against _me_ for Debbie’s murder. I guess there was a good chance of that, or that Sandra might have gone to the police if I’d tried to involve her pack, which was the last thing I wanted. Then I narrowed my eyes. I hadn’t been thinking about that whole mess. Exactly how had he known about Debbie?

He didn't react to that. Damn, his control was good.

“Returning to the topic at hand, if Mr Merlotte makes a complaint you have a good defence, so not to worry. Well, I think we’ve covered the basics for now. Sookie, do you have any other questions?”

“No, no. You've explained it all very well, thank you. That’s a big help.” I bit the bullet. “How much do I owe you?”

He waved that aside. “This was advice. I only charge friends for actual legal work.”

I pressed him a little, not wanting charity, but he insisted and I really didn't have the will to argue.

After he left, I played Pitiful Pearl again, wandering the house wistfully taking in the empty closet space, dragging a finger along the frame of our wedding photo and generally moping. I finally got sick of myself and after a stern pep talk I decided I needed to get out of the house.

I headed for Monroe, and wandered the mall for a few hours. I made a short stop for lunch – a pot pie which I forced myself to eat. Well, half of it. I held it together surprisingly well, except for a few moments.

Holiday decorations made me realise lonely Christmases past would reappear this year, and I had to look away. Later, standing outside a toy store, I wondered if I still had a right to pick out presents for my – Sam’s – nieces and nephews. At that point I decided to throw in the towel.

With a heavy heart I drove home as the sky darkened.

…

I'd been home for an hour or so. Fire lit and book beside me, I stared into the flames aimlessly, wondering which duplex Sam was in tonight and what I was going to do with myself for the next week.

While Bernie was ‘supervising’ Sam’s packing earlier – that is, making sure he didn't cave and stay – Sam had grabbed a moment alone with me in the kitchen. Unable to look me in the eye, he'd asked me to stay away from the bar. He needed the space, he said.

He was still very angry with me, that he hadn't said, but it was there under his exhaustion and his beaten heart.

So many woulda-coulda-shoulda's. He was my best friend and I was afraid that would be the main casualty of this clusterfuck. I wondered what else I'd lose.

I heard a car on the gravel.

What now? I muttered a few choice words as I got up. Peering out the front window, I saw yet another car I didn't recognise in the warm glow spilling from the house. One of those hybrids, a blue one. A tall figure climbed out.

I gaped and then hurried to the front door, faint tendrils of hope invading the dull helplessness I'd been mired in all day. I threw open the door to greet my great-grandfather eagerly.

“Niall. I'm sure glad to see you. Did you…” I trailed off as he came into the porch light. He was pale, his face deeply lined and his weight resting heavily on the handrail as he mounted the steps. His clothes were rumpled, and come to think of it I couldn't remember him ever turning up in a vehicle before.

“Grand-daughter. I have travelled far tonight, could I trouble you for some refreshment?” I was relieved to hear strength in his voice.

“Of course. Come in, there's a fire lit,” I gestured to the living room. “I'll rustle you up a bite and maybe hot chocolate?” It always perked me up when I needed comfort.

“Whatever you think suitable will be fine, I’m sure.”

…

I drained my mug of the last of its chocolaty goodness and set it down next to my empty plate. Niall had devoured his chicken sandwich and eating with company had revived my appetite. I felt better, and Niall smiled over his mug. You can't go wrong with hot chocolate.

Well, down to business.

“I guess you have some answers for me.”

“I do.” He set his mug down.

I fished my list out of my back pocket and smoothed it on my knee. Niall leaned forward curiously and reached out a hand. “May I?”

I handed it to him, and he looked it over. “Very sensible questions. Let's see. Firstly, magic is directed not by words but by will. I believe the token responded to your wishes, both spoken and unspoken.”

“Huh?” Not a very elegant response, but _unspoken_ … how in the hell would that work? I had a whole lot of unspoken wishes from getting rid of dryer lint to fostering world peace. How would it choose which one to grant?

“When last we spoke I asked you to recall what you were thinking at the exact moment of your wish. You said: For him to live, _not to leave me._ ”

“Oh.” Oh shit.

“Oh,” I repeated, biting back the urge to cuss. _Oh Sam, I hadn't meant to… I just didn't want to lose you._

He patted my hand. “Exactly, dear. It fulfilled your request the only way it could, by creating a join, or weave as they were once called. I see you have been researching yourself.” His eyes gleamed with a touch of pride in the firelight.

“I didn't find out much. So the join is meant to keep Sam with me?”

“I cannot tell you its exact parameters. And exploring them would be difficult and time consuming. But I think that is a good enough description.” He glanced down at my questions. “Given that, it will likely last your lifetime. And I believe it would not cause either of your deaths directly, as some weaves were set to do if their terms were broken. But that is not to say it is without harm.”

“Sam,” I said softly. “What is it doing to him?”

“I spoke to Dr Ludwig, and the healer, Miss Kingfisher.”

I stiffened, and he reprimanded me gently. “They had to tell him, my dear.”

I pulled a face. “I would have told him.” I sounded petulant.

“They couldn't wait, Ludwig needed to medicate him.” He sighed. “It _is_ influencing both of you. The effects on you are less dramatic, more subtle. Partly because you are fighting it. Not just because you are fae, but because you are strong-willed. And because of the nature of the weave itself.” He thought for a second. “You are the centre, the sun, and Sam is the moon, held in your pull. If you move, he follows. The weave binds him to you, not you to him.”

Sam was right, that wasn’t fair. I absorbed that, staring into the fire as the flames flickered and crackled. “Why am I fighting it?”

I looked over as his face softened. “You knew that something was amiss. Instinctively. You have good instincts.”

“And what is it doing to Sam?”

It was his turn to gaze at the fire. “You must realise that the Cluviel Dor is very powerful. Resurrecting him used a fraction of its power, most went into the weave. Because it was not created in the usual way, it has no limits and it is the strongest weave I've seen.”

“What does that mean?”

“He spent some time away from you recently, in Texas?”

“Yeah. A week, with his family.”

“He felt a strong urge to return, but he resisted. That separation weakened him physically, like a bad case of flu Ludwig said. It will become increasing difficult for him to be away from you if things continue unchecked.”

“Oh no.” What had I done? There was more: Niall was watching me, waiting for the first lead balloon to sink before he dropped the next. “What else?”

“It is lucky he already had feelings for you. It did not need to mould him too much at first, when you were friends. But then you became lovers, and married. For a while things were okay, yes?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “We were … happy.” Not ecstatic. Not overjoyed. But happy, content.

“Marriage is a difficult thing. I am no expert; but even with Einin there were times that were painful, discordant. I assume you had your share of troubles too. Unfortunately the more you pull away, the more the weave pulls on him. And you have been pulling away recently, have you not?” He watched me curiously.

I swallowed. “Yes. Over this last year … things haven't been great.”

He nodded, and patted my hand. “The weave has dug deep into his being in response, tightening its grip. It is damaging him, and threatening his sanity. Ludwig tells me he is becoming increasingly unpredictable.” He looked over at me intently. “He has hurt you. You did not tell me last time we met.”

I flinched. “He … he wasn't himself. It's tearing him up.”

He nodded. “But that won't make you less injured next time he slips. Perhaps fatally.”

I took in a sharp breath, and shook my head. “No. No. He wouldn't.”

“I am not so sure, Sookie. And I do not want to lose you. But the point is that every time you are out of harmony, the weave tightens, and he becomes desperate to relieve its pull on him. Desperate and volatile. That is dangerous for both of you. Staying on this path you are on – things will pass between you, things that cannot be undone or mended.”

Because things between us were never right in the first place, as I was coming to accept. Sam would never forgive himself if he did something he couldn’t take back. “I have to undo this. I can't let anything else happen to him.”

Niall sat back relieved. “Yes. There is no choice. The weave must be undone.”

“Is it safe to undo it? It won't hurt him?”

He understood. “It will not undo the magic that resurrected him.”

But that wasn't a full answer. “Will it hurt him?”

The skin around his eyes crinkled. He was pleased I’d noticed his evasion. “The process may cause him some …difficulty. Temporarily. But Dr Ludwig believes that will resolve once it is undone.”

“So there is a way?”

He was serious. “I believe I have found one. It is risky, there are no guarantees, but it is your only chance. To my knowledge, nothing similar has been attempted. I cannot predict the 'side effects' for you.”

“And what will it cost me?”

He shook his head, and that was definitely a proud look. “I called in a favour. I am ultimately responsible; I knew you had the Cluviel Dor, but I gave you no instruction.”

I tilted my head at him. No, he hadn’t. I wondered why that was, if he felt bad about it now, if it was so powerful. “And I won't owe you anything?”

“You are kin.”

Well, that was sweet, I guess. “What do I need to do?”

“You must leave soon. There is a limited window of time to get to where you must go.”

“I have to go somewhere?”

“Yes. You have a passport?”

…

I stared up at the dark ceiling, mulling over my decision. It meant trusting Niall more than I ever had, which made me uneasy, but I didn't have much choice.

I had to do this for Sam. I had to undo the damage I'd done. Or I'd lose him completely, if I hadn't already lost the last shred of friendship between us.

I didn't have so many friends I could afford to lose one. That's why I'd carried the damn fairy wish-granter around in the first place. Why I'd saved him.

And I couldn’t help but realise I’d been the instigator in all of this.

Right out of the gate, I'd used Sam in a fit of spite when I was hurting over Eric, used him and pushed him away, even when I’d known that I'd gravitate to him eventually, that he was next in a very short line. I hadn't examined my behaviour at the time, but it had been a terrible way to treat a friend. It wasn’t pleasant to admit that.

Then, when he'd cautiously approached me, I’d agreed to date him because I had no good reason to turn him down, no other option, no other man waiting in line, and no excuse not to take a chance on him. Not the strongest of reasons, not my proudest moment, and again unexamined.

I’d fallen into an easy relationship with him because I'd needed a safe haven. I hadn’t looked too closely at that either. Perhaps if I had… I might have realised I had just settled for the convenient, the comfortable, just like Michele said. Damn, that woman was smart.

Then I'd married him because it was expected, influenced by my friends and family, by the weave too probably. I’d had an instinct even then that backing out would do more than wound his pride, intuited it would cost me his friendship. And I just couldn't lose that. So I'd gone into it willingly, and stayed to keep a friend.

Stayed well past the time my instincts were telling me to turn tail and leave.

Instead I’d thrown up reason after reason to stay.

Because I made a vow in church. Because you don't just give up on a marriage. Because Bernie doubted us, me, and I had to prove her wrong. Because Tara kept defending him, and he was a good man. Because it would hurt my friends and family if we split up. Because people like Maxine would disapprove, people whose opinions I’d never cared for before.

Maybe I’d come up with all that because the weave was snaking its roots into me too. But I wasn’t real proud of the way I’d stuck my head in the sand, or the way I’d treated Sam.

I just hoped my instincts were still good, and I could trust Niall. And I could salvage some sort of friendship with Sam when the dust settled.


	23. Favours and Plans

I rose at Stan's and showered, grinning to myself that I was still here and Nadia was gone.

While Pam took her turn in the bathroom, I dressed, choosing jeans and a t-shirt, and packed. When she came out she cocked an eyebrow at the suit I’d left crumpled on the chair, but didn't comment. My finances had improved dramatically: I'd rather burn every suit Freyda picked out for me than wear them again.

I was surprised to find Stan upstairs.

“Eric. Could you spare an hour before you leave?”

“Of course, your majesty. Any particular reason?”

“My second would like to speak to you. About the witch.”

Ah. Yes. Daisy.

Houston was a hotspot of simmering tension between fundamentalists and the two-natured, and I could guess how Joseph planned to diffuse the situation. By subtly leading the FBI to the Chosen, their more unpalatable acts would be exposed to public scrutiny, isolating them and the Fellowship from wider support. Cut the root, wither the vine. With any luck.

For that strategy to work we didn’t need Tooth 'n Claw generating more Fellowship sympathisers. The vigilantes had to be reined in and their actions covered up, or public opinion would swing against the shapeshifters and us, now we'd thrown our lot in with them.

Now we had alliances with the Weres the situation needed to be handled delicately. The vigilantes couldn't be just … removed from the equation the old way.

But if the vigilantes agreed to a ceasefire, the FBI might be persuaded to cover up their earlier crimes in the name of peace, especially given the military’s ambitions for the two-natured. It was risky, but possible.

Stan would pursue that option. Others were less happy cuddling up to our furry friends.

Joseph had parroted Stan’s views in recent years, and I had no indication his personal views were at odds with his king’s, but also no way to be sure. If Stan was letting him handle this, he better stick with the programme. I did not wish to see the situation worsen.

This meeting gave me an opportunity to judge Joseph, and how Stan interacted with him. Isabel was lucky to have a loyal, capable child as her second. Pam believed Joseph didn’t know about Stan’s ‘ranch’. Was there mistrust between them?

…

We met at the re-purposed slaughterhouse in an office – more comfortable surroundings tonight, although the faint smell of death pervaded even that room. Stan didn't stay, indicating a level of trust. He might have the room bugged, but he was letting Joseph deal with me himself.

Joseph was a small, neat Spanish vampire with dark hair and rich amber eyes. He was all business tonight. There was a file waiting on the table for me.

I set the data-stick sitting on top of it aside and flicked through it as he invited. It contained photos and information on members of the Chosen, and Tooth ‘n Claw, with details of their backgrounds and talents. And a list of FBI contacts, with notes on whether they were cooperative or not. Mostly those active in Texas, but a handful in other southern states, including Louisiana.

He nodded at the data stick. “You may keep that copy.”

I raised an eyebrow. It was an impressive gesture of good faith to give such detailed information to me. I had no allegiance, no position. I was a free agent. For all he knew I would sell this to the highest bidder.

It was valuable, but first I needed to know the price.

“What do you want in exchange?”

“The witch. I need an angle. You know Weres, the hard-core ones, are too proud of what they are to deal with us. They don't trust us. But she seems more … approachable.” Ah. Because her grandmother and I had …

If he thought Daisy would tolerate vampire interference in her vendetta with the Chosen because of that, he was going to be disappointed. Probably fatally disappointed if Daisy _was_ anything like her grandmother.

“Be wary of her, she is more than she seems. It would not be wise to upset her people by … damaging her.” He wouldn't grasp exactly why she was important to them, much less care about the extinction of something rare and wonderful if she was lost – he was too young. It was truly a shame she had thrown her lot in with Tooth 'n Claw.

A frown rippled across his forehead, then was gone. “I do not wish to antagonise the vigilantes. That is the last thing I need.”

“No. Not the Weres. Her people.”

“Ah.” The frown stayed this time. “But they are disenfranchised.”

“In terms of human politics, yes. But not in our world. It would be dangerous to antagonise them. For you personally.”

A flash of surprise. “I see. But I must use her as a liaison to the Weres. I was intending to use persuasion… force only as a last resort.”

I nodded. “Good. And the other Weres?”

“Must be persuaded of their errors. Unfortunately, not permanently.” His eyes glinted with frustration. “Pre-revelation I'd have had them killed messily and the FBI glamoured into blaming the Chosen.”

Thus solving the PR nightmare of supe vigilantes and blackening the Fellowship’s name with one move. Of course, the Were community would know, it would undo the progress we’d made with them. And the FBI was aware of glamour these days. So, not a course he could take, but I wanted to be sure he knew that.

“No. That would not be fruitful. Negotiation will create a lasting solution.”

“Agreed. It is the only way.” Good, he was finished dancing, and so was I, convinced that he wouldn’t do anything rash. “So, the witch?”

“Is not a normal witch. She is what her people call a spirit-keeper. She can access her ancestors, a long line of powerful women. I do not know how powerful she is, but her grandmother was formidable.”

He blinked. “Oh.”

“Her people have shifters, but not Old World shifters. They are… different.”

“Like New Mexico?”

I nodded. “Do not insult her people, her customs, or her ancestors. She will not respond well to threats, or to human authority. She has a grudge – some would say a legitimate one – against the American government. Tread carefully.”

“I see.”

Remembering what Pam had reported after Sookie's rescue, I added, “There may be some dissent within her people over her involvement with Tooth ‘n Claw. Her people hold themselves separate from other weres and shifters, but she is anticipating they will be caught up in the violence. And I agree. She is acting to protect her people, but she may be persuaded there is a better way to keep them safe. I do not believe she has been directly involved in any violence, so far.”

He sat back, thoughtful. “Does she have any influence over the group?”

“I don’t know. But they need her. She is blocking the FBI surveillance for them.”

His eyes widened. “That is useful. For them and for me.” Satisfied, he nodded and waved at the data-stick. I slipped it into my pocket and left.

…

Stan was waiting. He fell into step with me, but didn’t speak until we were alone outside.

Kings and parking lots: bad memories. I scanned the surroundings. Deserted. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Stan spoke carefully. “Joseph has his hands full in Houston.” Was he not confident in his second’s abilities?

“He handled things well when you were … indisposed.”

“Yes. But I have many loyal followers in Texas. He was not alone”

Hmm. Not so confident in him, then. I commented neutrally, “Texas is a big state.” Let him lead the conversation.

“Yes. A starving man must start with small meals.” Oh, interesting. Joseph was not ready for Texas, perhaps not even Oklahoma in Stan's eyes, which explained passing him over.

Was Houston a test? I asked nonchalantly, glancing around again, “And if he handles those small meals?”

“He can move on to a feast. In Amun.”

A threat: if I didn’t take Louisiana Joseph would. I looked at Stan sharply.

His face was bland, no menace, as he said lightly, “He is a better choice than Boscombe.”

Oh, _Arkansas._ Now that _was_ interesting.

Pam pulled into the lot, ending our conversation. We exchanged nods, and I got in the back of the Audi, glad to be behind tinted windows so I could stop pretending to limp and ditch the gloves.

Pam shot me a curious glance, but she left me to my thoughts. I sprawled across the back seat, contemplating Stan’s suggestion.

I’d had little contact with Joseph, no reason to trust him. Stan had had me meet Joseph in person tonight so I would find it easier to accept him as an ally against de Castro. But Joseph hadn’t seemed over-eager to ingratiate himself.

Hmm. Joseph didn’t know he was being groomed for Arkansas. Perhaps Stan wanted my approval first. Or he wanted me to approach Joseph directly…

Was Joseph ambitious, a threat Stan wanted rid of? He’d been loyal after Rhodes, so I didn’t think he would turn on his king without reason. But maybe the yoke was chaffing, and he resented not getting Oklahoma, wanted more power.

I needed to know if Stan put Isabel forward because he didn’t trust Joseph or because Isabel was truly the best candidate with Jean-Luc already in Oklahoma. Taking his words tonight at face value, Stan simply thought Joseph wasn’t quite ready. Arkansas was smaller, less disputed, an easier mouthful to chew.

Alternatively, perhaps the other Zeus states had refused to give Oklahoma to Stan’s second. Perhaps Isabel was more palatable, considered more independent of Stan. After what happened with Hugo there was gossip about her punishment, rumours it caused a rift between them.

Why was Stan suggesting anyone for Arkansas? Arkansas was not well populated with our kind so if I took both states it didn’t add much in terms of administration, but it was a second sinkhole monetarily.

Did he think to ease my reservations about taking Louisiana? Possibly.

Or Stan was looking to increase his own influence, put another loyal ally on a throne. Did Russell and Bartlett know about this? Were they in favour of Joseph for Arkansas?

The little cabal I met yesterday seemed to be looking to the future. If they had an agenda it focused on the changes vampires needed to make to survive. That was nothing more than sensible, and nothing I didn’t agree with.

Joseph had run Texas, prevented takeovers, proved himself capable of holding onto a kingdom, but Houston was a microcosm of the problems we faced in the immediate future, a better test of what they wanted. Joseph must prove his adaptability, his willingness to work with Weres, handle human sensitivities and find less violent solutions for these times.

I felt the car accelerate. We were on the I20, and I’d spent a good length of time thinking around Stan’s suggestion, but I was no nearer pinning down his motives.

I groaned. Politics. I hadn’t even agreed and it had already begun.

…

An hour later, I asked Pam what she knew about Stan and Joseph. As far as she knew, there was no tension and Stan seemed appreciative of what Joseph had done after Rhodes. Perhaps his suggestion was motivated by genuine respect and gratitude.

Unfortunately, initiating that conversation had predictable results. Pam became practically giddy with the thought I might be seriously considering taking Louisiana.

“Eric, you would make an excellent king, you know you would.”

“Pam, this is not something to take on lightly.” I tried not to snap, but she knew I was irritated.

She frowned at me in the mirror. “Of course not. But you will have allies in Amun, powerful ones.”

“Right now they are allies. Who knows how long they’ll stay that way if I don’t fit in with what they want.”

“They want you.”

“No. They want someone who will further their own agenda, which seems acceptable so far, but they won’t reveal anything they think I would find unpalatable at this stage. And I do not have a sufficient power base to launch a coup against de Castro on my own. I need their support, which puts me at a disadvantage.”

“You still have support in Louisiana.”

“Not enough. And I will have less once the rumours about Freyda and Nadia have chance to bite. No-one wants a king that easily fooled.”

She rolled her eyes. “Nobody complained that Sophie Ann didn’t anticipate Threadgill’s treachery.”

“Cleo and Gervaise did. They were most unhappy, did you forget that? Oh, it worked out because she won, by the skin of her teeth, but everyone loves a winner. But she took him down herself and she got Arkansas out of it, strengthening her position.”

“You were a consort. Your hands were tied.”

“Yes. That is the point,” I said sharply. “Everyone thought I had Freyda under my control, but now they know otherwise. I couldn’t stop Freyda or Nadia. Texas and Mississippi did that.”

“Nadia was an unstable psycho who needed taking down. To do it the way it was done – surgically, minimal damage to Alabama and Oklahoma – could only be done with the resources of several states.”

“Yes, without my help.”

“You helped! The message–”

“Which no-one can know about. As far as the rumour-mill knows, I walked into a trap. Almost died. Walked out with nothing. These are not recommendations for a leader, Pam.”

“Stop being so hard on yourself. That only happened because Ocella was an idiot and signed that contract. Bartlett is right, without him you are free to do this.”

“Ocella was not the only reason I have not pursued a throne.”

“No? What else is holding you back? It's not like you owe Felipe anything.” She wanted to see him punished for turning me over to Freyda.

“Revenge is not a good motive for a coup.”

“You should have taken over when Sophie Ann was injured.” She was still bitter about that.

I hissed. “No. That would not have solved the problem and you know it. We were too weak after Katrina.”

“And you were too distracted.”

“Pamela. Drop it.” I'd had enough haranguing about that at the time.

“Fine. But at least consider their offer.”

“I am doing. Shut up and drive.”

We settled into a tense silence. She relaxed long before I stopped glaring at the ceiling. I missed Karin. She would have understood my reservations, the politics, the noose I felt tightening.

And I hadn't forgotten that before the trial I'd decided leaving Louisiana would be the best course. Best not to linger, rubbing salt in the wound.

Karin would have understood that too.

…

We were back at Pam's house by midnight.

She called Maxwell at Fangtasia. Takings were good; there had been no problems while she was away. Except T Rex, as Pam lovingly called her Regent, had stopped by earlier and Maxwell could hardly bar Teresa from Pam's office. Pam was itching to get there and check it over for bugs. I needed to keep out of sight, especially when Teresa was snooping for de Castro, so I stayed put while she went in.

At a loose end, I broke out the new laptop Pam had bought me. After setting it up how I wanted it, I looked up the number for Smoky Pete's in Tyler. Might as well smooth the way for Joseph, and give Daisy some warning. She had been reasonable with Pam and Sookie.

After a long time ringing, a deep, lazy voice answered with the name of the bar over distorted music and shouted conversations. I heard the rumble of balls on a pool table.

“I need to reach Daisy Riverstone.”

“Yeah? We don't take messages, pal.”

“It’s to her advantage.”

“Who is this?”

“Northman. Eric Northman.”

There was a short pause. “Wait.” The bar noise cut off as he put me on hold.

A few minutes later he was back, giving me a number hastily as someone called for the bartender in the background. I hung up, and redialled.

Daisy answered immediately. “Vampire. What is it? I'm busy.”

I smiled. She sounded just like Clearspring when she was pissed. “I'll be brief. Joseph Velasquez will be contacting you for Texas shortly. He wants to negotiate with your friends in Houston.”

She snorted. “Yeah? My friends don't welcome dead men telling them what to do.”

“Texas wants Houston quiet. Better for your people too.”

“It's not that simple.”

“No. It won't be. But it needs to happen.”

“They burnt a whole family. Children. Babies.” Rage shook her voice.

I said softly, “I have seen such hatred many times. You are feeding the wrong wolf. Retaliation never ends it; it only pours oil on the flames. I was at Rhodes. We are all at risk. Stan wants it over as much as you do. Hear Joseph out.”

“Can I trust him?”

I chuckled. “They're vampires. I don't know Joseph. Stan… perhaps.”

She laughed ruefully. “But you think I should listen anyway. This Joseph – what did you tell him about me?”

“A little of what you are. And that you are keeping the FBI in the dark.”

“I can’t let this go.”

“No. But you can be flexible about a solution.”

“Perhaps. Until we speak again, _Nightwalker_. ” She named me in her tongue, and I returned the favour.

“Until then, _Spiritkeeper_. ”

…

Cataliades had faxed over some documents from the trial. Looking over the paperwork for my very generous compensation, I remembered the investments I wanted to keep in Oklahoma. Isabel had been easy to work with on those oil refinery deals. I'd be happy to be a silent partner if she wanted.

And with an eye on the offer I'd just been made, I could keep the compensation as a war chest. In fact, I wondered if that hadn't been part of Stan, Russell and Bartlett's plans. Hmm.

I was still raw from the whole Nadia-Freyda mess and that made me overly suspicious, but it did all seem a bit too convenient. I was wary, very wary, of being manoeuvred into another situation I couldn't control.

I put those worries aside for tonight.

I still had Jean-Luc's number, so I texted him, explaining I wanted to keep some investments in Oklahoma if Isabel agreed, asking him to let me know when Isabel was settled and I could speak to her.

I was shocked when she called back about half an hour later.

She was very helpful, assured me she didn't want a silent partner, in fact expressed that it would assist her if I was more involved as I knew the businesses better than her at this point. She told me to fax details in the next few nights, and she'd get back to me.

It was a mark of how cautious I was feeling that I immediately wondered if Stan had told her to accommodate my every whim.

…

Pam got home about three. She was highly amused: she played me some security footage from her office.

It was good quality – she’d installed a system that ran high-speed video after I'd made a point to mention a company that specialised in it during that ten minutes Russell gave us to talk two years ago. She'd hidden the cameras well and Teresa hadn't found them. So now Pam knew exactly where all the bugs were, and we both got a laugh watching Teresa’s failed attempts to get into Pam's private rooms.

Apparently her pet witch had warded them very well, worth every penny of her expensive fees. I was still chuckling when Pam’s phone vibrated. She frowned at the text.

“Something up?”

“Thalia is here.” As she said it, there was a quiet knock at the back door.

Pam took the armchair and Thalia sat on the couch opposite mine, out of place against the chintz in head to toe black, scowling ferociously. She’d left her sword on the kitchen counter; bringing it inside was a sure sign of her black mood. Teresa’s presence in the area?

“Report,” Pam prompted.

Thalia ignored her and spoke to me. “I followed the dog home from Fangtasia on Monday night.”

I raised an eyebrow. She had been gone when we left the bar that night, but Pam had said nothing.

Pam snapped, “I told you there was no need. I warned her he was on his way.” Ah. Thalia had ignored instructions. Not an uncommon occurrence, even when I was sheriff.

Thalia shrugged. “Instinct. A good one. She was asleep. He woke her and they argued. He became physical, about to shift.”

Pam swore softly. My fangs itched to snap down but I held them back and kept my face still. Fuck, she probably smelt of me. But she always smelt of others, she hugged everyone at the drop of a hat. He should be used to that. There was no reason to attack her. Or for me to feel … responsible.

Thalia watched me closely as she continued. “I distracted him at the right moment. He left her shaken but intact.”

“And why did you not report this on Monday?” Pam’s tone was sharp.

Thalia kept her eyes on me. “It was better I took care of it. You were needed in Texas.”

I nodded stiffly. It would have been a distraction. There was more. “What else?”

“He stayed away the night of the full moon. Wednesday he fought with the brother. Late afternoon, at his bar. The guards report he was close to shifting again. Police broke it up, kept the dog in the pound overnight. Not the brother.”

I kept a choke-hold on my emotions. “And since then?”

“The dog stayed away. At the bar.”

Good. Now, how to protect her once he went back to her. Focus on that, not on breaking his neck. “Have you spoken to her about this?”

She almost smirked. “No. She is a proud woman.”

Yes, she wouldn’t want pity. Or help. Not until it was too late. Again. I remembered the blood soaked bandages, the bites and my hand twitched.

Thalia noticed. “She will be protected. I swear it.”

I searched her eyes. She hated humans, and Sookie was no exception. But she did seem sincere, and she was a better guard than Bubba. I pushed the guilt for that mistake away. I needed to focus.

“What has been done?”

“The guards have been warned. I have begun introducing them to her. So she will feel able to go to them if there is need.”

“Good. That’s a start.” I sat back, thinking.

“Eric,” Pam warned, “you can’t intervene.”

I snorted, and opened my mouth to point out that she was just as frustrated by the situation as I was, but a hiss from Thalia interrupted.

“Insolent child. Be respectful. He has no need of your instruction.” Pam blinked in shock, and Thalia turned to me. “That one needs discipline.”

Questioning how I dealt with my child was insulting enough, but I refused to let her use me to undermine Pam’s authority. “I will decide that. She is my child.” I growled, glaring at her. “And your sheriff. You owe her respect.”

Thalia’s dark brown eyes glittered with anger but I stared her down until she nodded stiffly to me, then Pam. “Sheriff.” Acknowledging Pam’s position would have to suffice for now. I had no patience for a pointless battle of wills with her.

Pam said icily, “I will deal with your disrespect later.” She was already plotting a punishment, I could tell. And it wouldn’t be pleasant. “Back to the topic at hand. Is there anything else Thalia?”

“No, sheriff.”

“Good.” Pam turned to me.

“I may not be able to intervene, but others can.” I took my phone out, dialling a number I hadn’t used for three years. It went to voicemail, but I recognised the innocuous message and waited impatiently for it to finish. “Niall. Northman. The shifter is acting irrationally and has become a danger to Sookie. I believe the trigger for his behaviour is magical in nature. Fae magic. Ms Kingfisher knows more.”

Next I called Rory.

It took a while for her to answer. “Eric?” she mumbled.

“Rory. The shifter – Sookie’s shifter, Merlotte – is not himself. He is unstable, violent. Towards his wife and others. I suspect the join. I will pay you to find out.”

She groaned. “First that arrogant prick and now you. I’m–”

I interrupted, impatient. “Will you do it?”

She snapped, “Already have. Brigant beat you to it.” Damn, that meant the message I just left was redundant.

“Is it the join? What is it doing to Merlotte?”

“Eric. They are married. You have no claim to her.”

Fuck. “Is it fixable? Can you tell me that much?”

“Don’t know. Brigant is away finding out. Eric–”

“Can we meet? I’m at Fangtasia.” If I could talk to her face to face I could read her reactions, find out more.

She muttered something angrily in fae. “No, Eric. Between your trial and bloody Brigant’s errands I’ve been dragged back and forth from Dallas to Bon Temps too many times. I’m exhausted. Tomorrow.” She hung up.

I swore in Norse. Fucking fae. Part-fae. Damn it, she had a point; I'd woken her in the small hours. I dragged my hair back in frustration.

Pam drawled, “See? She is annoying.”

…

I lay in bed waiting for dawn, thinking about Sookie. And Merlotte.

Pam was right. She was a distraction. Still.

I sighed, and forced myself to think of the throne Bartlett and Stan had suggested I take. I began listing favours I could cash in and allies I thought trustworthy enough to use, planning a loose strategy and targets that needed to be captured.

Inevitably a few minutes before dawn, my thoughts turned back to Sookie. I saw her broken and bloody again, felt the chains, the helplessness.

I pushed that image away, replacing it with a better one.

The ball at the summit. A blue dress. Music. Her hair billowing, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling, and giddy with laughter that I could feel.

I smiled as dawn pulled me under.

…

I was restless Saturday. Rising early, I checked my phone. No messages.

Not that any message from Bon Temps would come to my phone. I pushed those worries away firmly, she was not my concern, and concentrated on other things.

I waited impatiently for Pam. I wanted to interrogate her about Russell and Bartlett. I wanted to know anything and everything about their relationship, their alliance with Stan. I needed to know what de Castro had been up to recently, who else was in New Orleans with Teresa, who Pam thought might welcome a change of leadership, who wouldn't.

I needed to weigh the odds before I could decide on a course of action. A lot was resting on what information she could give me.

When she emerged from her room, she was far too pleased that I was making preliminary enquiries, and only too happy to fill me in. Well, at first. Soon she began to get my point: that I would need numbers and support to do this. It wasn't going to be easy.

I made it clear I was still doubtful it was the right thing to do.

She frowned, unwilling to admit defeat. I shifted irritably, realising my toes were beginning to throb. I needed blood, which posed a problem while I was lying low, keeping my recovery quiet. I didn't want to risk Fangtasia, or the cheap apartment we used a few nights ago.

But Ludwig's clinic… There was an idea. If I was spotted, it would add credence to the story of a slow recovery. And technically it was meant to be neutral ground.

I called the doctor. She reluctantly agreed to arrange for some donors to meet me there, if I paid well. I would take Thalia as a 'guard', while Pam left for the bar and her Sheriff duties. Two targets to track would split any tails out there, and taking Thalia made it seem I was still injured.

…

We made it to the clinic with no sign of surveillance.

Ludwig was curt as usual, and ushered me into a room with two waiting donors. Older than the usual rebellious early twenties customers taking a walk on the wild side at Fangtasia, these were strong, healthy women dressed casually but well. Professional. Not fangbangers. They’d agreed to be glamoured for secrecy.

I was leaning on Thalia theatrically, and after she dropped me on the couch with an unsympathetic grunt, the two women fussed over me like a pair of hens. I obviously made a believable invalid. I snorted in amusement and they looked at one another in confusion until they realised it was an act.

They didn’t ask questions and got straight to business. I fed mechanically from them. The blood was good, nourishing. These women ate well. Once I'd had my fill, I glamoured them to believe I was still injured, and to forget what day it was as we’d agreed. It was less damaging than removing the memory. I paid the amount we’d arranged and added a generous tip.

When I left the room, I found Thalia outside finishing up a phone call.

“Sookie had a visitor. He just left. Tall, blonde, smelt delicious.”

“Brigant. How long was he there?”

Before she could answer my phone rang. “Care for a wager on who that is?” I asked her as I pulled it out to answer. She scowled and shook her head. “Northman.”

“Brigant.” What a surprise. “I received your message. We need to speak. Neutral ground.”

“Agreed.” I thought for a moment. “I am at Ludwig's. Is that suitable?”

“Perfectly. I will speak to her. Wait there for me.” He hung up before I could reply.

I was surprised when Ludwig turned up a few minutes later with the news that he would be about an hour. I'd expected him to 'pop' in at once. Thalia waited until Ludwig had grudgingly settled us back in the room to tell me he'd arrived and left Sookie's by car.

That was odd. He'd popped straight into her front room last week. I had no idea how far away he'd been or if there was a distance limit. It wasn’t something fae would want vampire to know. On other occasions Sookie had related, he'd just walked out of her woods. He did use a car from time to time, but it was unusual.

I knew the fae had a way of moving rapidly about this world without 'popping', or using the portals that led to their own realm. I just didn't know what it was, or its limitations. And they weren't likely to tell me, not even Rory.

Hmm. She'd been yawning after her trip to Cancún, and she had claimed fatigue last night. It cost them to travel – whether that was both methods or just the popping, I couldn't say.

Niall arrived after an hour and a half. He stepped into the room and I nodded to him. “Envoy.”

“Eric.” He smiled faintly. “It seems we have both gone down the ranks.” He looked at Thalia pointedly, and I nodded to her. She slipped out of the room, shutting the door quietly.

Niall sat on the couch, and I took my feet off the desk I was sitting behind, examining him closely. He was a little dishevelled, and his face … yes, definitely, he had aged. I hadn't noticed at Sookie's a week ago. And he seemed fatigued. He was examining me just as closely.

He spoke first. “You are recovered?”

“Yes. The healer was effective.”

“Yes. She has a reputation.” I noticed he didn’t say what kind. “I hear the trial went well.”

Hmm. Who told him, Cataliades? I gave him a toothy smile. “Oh yes. Nadia is dust on the wind.”

“As it should be.” He tilted his head. “I suppose your guards alerted you to the shifter’s behaviour.”

“Yes, last night. What I saw of him first-hand before I left for Dallas had already made me wary. Pam says the change has been gradual, but it was apparent to me something was wrong with him.”

“When did he hurt her?” She hadn’t told him.

“Monday night. Thalia distracted him at a critical point, or it would have ended badly. He is a danger to her.”

“I agree. I will deal with it.”

I quirked an eyebrow.

“You don’t need details. Suffice it to say that Sookie has agreed, and the influence will be removed from them both if all goes well.”

I raised both eyebrows. “ _If_ all goes well?” I said sharply.

He shrugged. “This join was created in unusual circumstances. They are usually self-limiting.”

Which implied they usually didn’t need removing. “Has this been attempted before?”

“No,” he said shortly. He rubbed his forehead, a gesture of concern I had not seen him make often. That did not fill me with confidence.

“Is Sookie aware of the risks?”

“She is determined to remove it.”

That was evasive, but I knew there was no point asking again. “What will happen to them if it isn’t removed?”

He looked at me. “That is something you don’t want to find out.”

Shit. She had no choice then. I stared at the desk for a moment. “When?”

“Soon. I must take her to someone who can help. I do not know exactly how long it will take, but she should be back in this realm in about six months.”

My head snapped up. Six months? Where the fuck was he taking her, were they walking to the South Pole? Wait. _Back_ in this realm, was he… I supressed that idea and asked the most important question. “Will she be safe?”

“It will not be without risk, but I believe she will survive.” He paused slyly. “Until she comes back to Louisiana. With de Castro as ruler she will never be safe here. His protection decree is not binding. We both know he can remove it at any time.”

“Yes, but the other decrees–”

“Do not hold sway in Louisiana. And this is her home. She will wish to return here.” He gave me a significant look.

Damn. I could see where he was going with this. “And will she return?” I wanted that confirmed.

“If that is what she wants. But she would be safer if Louisiana was in … friendly hands.”

I let that hang for a few seconds. Before I had a reply formed, there were light footsteps outside, and the door was thrown open.

Ah. Rory. And she did not look pleased.

“Eric,” she said warmly. “Ludwig told me you were here.” She was up to something, but she wasn’t pissed with me. After that phone call last night I expected it.

“Rory. Come in.” She closed the door behind her and came over, perching herself neatly on the desk. I didn’t miss that she’d put herself between me and Brigant, or that she was bristling at him. Her protectiveness was amusing.

“Brigant.”

“Crossbre– Miss Kingfisher.”

“To what do we owe this honour?” Honour sounded like something disgusting the way she sneered it. I hadn’t missed his cut-off insult, or that she had barely reacted to it.

“I had business with Northman, not you.” He was on the edge of being angry.

She smiled grimly. “Then that is also my business.” Then she said something in fae that made him sit up and look between us curiously.

“I see. The mark is yours. Well, you will have it from Northman anyway then. I am taking my granddaughter to be made whole again.”

“And naturally, you have consulted her husband.” Her hand tensed against the desk.

The air rippled around him. “Do not interfere. The shifter wishes the join undone.”

“And that is enough for you?”

“Do you deny that is the shifter’s wish?”

“No.”

“Good, then it is no further concern of yours. I will do what is best for my granddaughter.”

“Oh, indeed. Can’t let the family line go to hell,” she said curtly.

He glared at her for a moment, before he rose, straightening his jacket. “Eric, I will be in touch,” he said as he moved to leave.

Rory glared at the door after it closed behind him. After a few minutes, I reached out slowly and tapped her hand.

She glanced round at me, pulling a face. “Sorry.” She shook herself. “Now, what was Brigant up to? He could have called to tell you Sookie was leaving.”

I flashed back on something from earlier. “Do you know where he is taking her? And what did he mean by ‘made whole’?”

She sighed. “It’s an alien influence invading her… spirit, if you like. That rift will heal once the join is gone. He’ll be taking her to someone powerful. Not in this realm, there isn’t anyone.”

“To the fae realm?” I tried not to react, but her eyes softened. She’d sensed my sudden spike of anxiety.

“No. She’s not fae enough. He can’t take her there. And if all it took was fae healing he’d just bring some family here for her. He could swing that as Envoy.”

“Where then?”

“I don’t know. He’s very tight-lipped about such things. Wherever it is, he’ll have to take her to a crossroads, somewhere the veil between realms is thin enough to cross. That’s all I know.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Yes. Dealing with anyone powerful enough to remove it is risky, but she’s strong; she’s been resisting the join. What else did Brigant want Eric?”

“Nothing.” Not directly. He hinted at something, hinted heavily, but he hadn’t come right out with it.

She frowned at me curiously, but she didn’t ask again. Instead, she tensed slightly. “Speaking of Sookie, I must ask you something.”

“Must?”

She nodded. “You understand that thanking me has consequences?”

I hesitated, and then said warily, “Yes.”

“And those will be easier for both of us if we can trust each other. Will you tell the truth?”

I looked at her. She was very serious. “If I can.”

She looked down at the desk for a minute. “When Sookie spoke about saving Sam Merlotte, she misspoke. He was not her husband at the time.”

Shit. Why this? I clamped down tightly on that painful memory. “No.”

She said quietly, “I am sorry to bring it up, but I must ask about your marriage. She said it was done to protect her.”

I kept my eyes on hers, and my emotions locked down. I answered evenly, “Yes. From my king, Felipe de Castro and his regent Victor Madden.”

“That was not the only reason. Did you use it to control her?”

I hissed. “No. I did not.”

Her mouth tightened. “Then why does she find it so distasteful?”

I hesitated. “She did not know what she did when she gave me the knife.”

”You tricked her into it. Why?”

“There was no time. Victor was about to take her to Vegas, to Felipe. I knew she didn’t want that.” And I didn’t want to let her go…

She frowned. “Did she ask you to release her once she knew?”

I looked away. “No. I was surprised that she did not.”

She tilted her head. “But if she knew it was done to protect her, she would let it stand surely? You were together at the time anyway.”

I snorted. “Yes, but she is… strong-willed, unpredictable.”

She smile wryly, “Yes, I noticed that. What would have happened to her if Felipe took her?”

I grimaced. “At the very least she would have lost control of her life. I did not want that for her.”

She whispered, “Not after the Roman… And you love her. You didn’t want to lose her. That is the other motive you will not say.”

She flinched as my anger at her intrusive questions finally broke free. I stood abruptly, knocking the chair over, and turned my back on her for a moment, snapping “Is that all?”

I wanted her gone.

She was quiet for a moment. And then I heard her moving cautiously. She put her hand on my arm very gently, and spoke softly. “She doesn’t recognise your marriage. I see it was real to you.”

I closed my eyes. “I… wanted it to be.” But it wasn’t. Not even close. Just a mirage, an illusion. Pam had been right about that. I was more of a husband in those precious few days when I didn’t know who I was than when we were pledged.

I felt warmth flare where her hand was touching me, and looked down. “What are you doing?” My voice was gruffer than I intended.

She gasped and withdrew her hand, examining it in surprise. “A fae instinct. Meant to soothe, not harm. Did it hurt?”

I shook my head. It had been … pleasant. “Consider me soothed.” I tried to smile and she looked at me sadly.

“I apologise. I needed to be sure what manner of man I am responsible for.”

“You are not responsible for me.” I picked up the chair and sat down, mainly so I didn’t have to look at her. She sat cross legged on the desk and undid her braid, shaking her hair loose before she answered.

“I am. You thanked me, and I took on your debt. Your actions reflect on me.”

I was sure most fae would not see it like that. It was time to find out exactly what I'd got myself into. “I have answered your questions. Now will you answer mine?”

“If I can,” she smiled as she echoed my earlier reply.

“I felt it take hold here,” I touched my chest, “this magic between us. What it can do?”

“What you felt was a tie forming between us when I accepted your thanks.”

I was uneasy at that after learning how potentially damaging joins were, and she sensed it.

“It’s a weak tie. It does allow me to find you.” I stiffened at that, but she went on to reassure me. “I can’t influence you through it; it is more of a … mark of the debt you owe.”

Ah. Niall called it a mark. “Other fae can sense it?”

“Yes. It will remain until I release it once you discharge the debt. Until then if another fae kills you they must take on what you owe. The mark tells them the debt is there.”

“I see. And what must I do to discharge this debt?”

She shrugged. “Perform a service for me.”

“When?” I was eager to remove it. I did not like the thought of even a half-fae I almost trusted being able to track me.

She shrugged again. “When I come up with a sufficiently important task. It should be a task of similar value to the healing.”

“And what guarantee do I have that you will release this mark after I complete this task?”

“My word.”

Fuck. Most fae would use that to their full advantage, wring as many 'favours' as possible out of one of my kind. That explained the dire warnings against such entanglements. “That’s how it works? Entirely on your discretion?” I was not pleased.

She chuckled a little. “Yes. You will have to trust me. Shouldn’t you have found that out before you thanked me?”

I pulled my hair back off my face. “Probably.”

Shrewdly she said, “The fae are not the only ones to believe in debts of honour. You thanked me, despite the disadvantage to yourself, because the healing was tantamount to saving your life. You are an honourable man Eric Northman. Even the fae have few of those these days. I will treat you fairly.”

“I will hold you to that.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You take risks. You’re not hidebound by caution at your age. I like that.”

I laughed at the compliment. “Neither are you. You sassed the Pythoness.”

She grinned. “Touché. I think I will enjoy our… association.” She looked at me slyly. “She does not love the shifter.”

The smile froze on my face. “No more meddling.”

“That doesn’t give you hope?”

I gritted my teeth. “She used the love token to save him. She wouldn’t even admit to me she had it.”

She frowned. “You knew?”

“Niall told me.”

She spewed out something, looking almost as angry as she had at Nadia. “What exactly did Brigant tell you?”

She _really_ didn’t like him. “That she could use it to wish for anything she wanted, for one she loved.”

“And you thought… that bastard,” she hissed.

“What?”

“You took him literally. It can be used for one you love. A lover, a brother, a sister, a child, even a friend.”

I blinked. No. It was a _love_ token. Surely…

Fuck.

I’d assumed.

For a second, I began to consider…

No. It didn’t make a difference.

In fact it was worse if she wasn’t in love with Merlotte. I would have used it for her, or perhaps my children. But not for a 'friend'. She'd used it without hesitation to save him. I could understand that if she loved him.

When Niall told me she had it, I didn’t trust his motives. I believed he was laying a trap, baited with a fae item I didn’t understand or trust. I resolved not to ask her to use it. And considering what happened when she used it on Merlotte, my instincts had been correct.

But I couldn’t help myself; I was desperate to escape Ocella's contract. I lost my temper when she seemed uninterested in my fate, when she didn’t want to help, didn’t want me to stay enough to offer it. That was all I wanted, a sign that losing what we had mattered enough…

And when I pushed her, it was clear she hadn’t considered using it to help me, and she didn’t even trust me enough to admit she had it.

That was just one more thing she wouldn’t share – like the identity of her cousin’s child, the telepath. As if I couldn't be trusted with that. After she’d broken the bond, all those little secrets began to mount up, and deep down I had begun to mistrust her too. We were screwed.

Even if she didn’t love Sam at the moment she saved him, it didn't change anything. She hadn’t loved me, not enough. She would have moved on to someone else, I would still have had to marry Freyda. Nothing would have changed.

Rory cleared her throat. “Hey. You okay?”

I slumped in the chair. “I should know better than to listen to Niall.”

“Yes. He is not trustworthy.”

On that we agreed. I wondered what she would say about his hints tonight. I motioned her closer, and said quietly, “He suggested Sookie will not be safe if Felipe retains Louisiana.”

She frowned. “Oh. Why would you take his advice on that?”

I didn’t answer but she caught something from me. “You’ve protected her quite adequately so far. Don’t trust him. He’s never altruistic, not even for a descendant of his favourite son. Everything he does has a hidden purpose. One that suits him, no-one else.”

“That’s what they say about me.”

She looked amused at that. “And yet you thanked me, which gained you nothing. So I don’t believe that Eric.”

“Touché.” I wanted to ask about the tension between them. “What did you say to him in your tongue?”

“Oh. Just that he better not fuck with _my_ vampire before I get my debt paid.”

I raised an eyebrow at her possessive tone. “You don’t get on.”

“Nope.”

I frowned. “He has been mostly reliable in his dealings with me. Is there something I should know?”

She shrugged. “Don’t turn your back on him.”

That went without saying … although I realised uneasily that I’d just turned my back on her without a thought. She was younger, but an unknown quantity with her dual ancestry. I’d unconsciously let my guard down around her. “You don’t like him. Is there bad blood between you?”

She smiled humourlessly. “Oh there’s plenty of bad blood, but not with Brigant personally. I don’t agree with some of his politics. And he’s fae. Very fae.”

My frowned deepened. That made no sense. She was half-fae herself. Ah. But maybe that wasn’t good enough…

She sighed. “I’ve been out of the realm for some time. Almost a self-exile you might say. I left almost two centuries ago when it became unfavourable to dissent. Not that I ever stayed long.”

That fit with the rise of Breandan’s faction and his ideas about racial purity, but there was more to it. “And the bad blood?”

She rolled her eyes, and smiled for real. “What, you think because we fucked once I’m just going to spill my guts?”

“I’m a good listener when I want to be.” I was serious. Mostly because I was curious, but also because I owed her again. She came to help in Dallas twice. “Sometimes an outside perspective…”

She looked down for a second, and then turned to face me squarely. “Okay. But quid pro quo Eric: I’ll tell you my history with the fae, if you tell me your history with the Roman.”

I stiffened.

“Not so easy, is it?” she whispered, searching my face. “Maybe when we know each other better.”

“That might take a while.” Centuries. I didn’t talk to anyone about that … the closest I got to that grim truth was with Sookie.

“Yes. A long while.” She smiled ruefully.

…

Later, as dawn approached, I kept coming back to Rory’s warnings.

I had enough misgivings about the whole thing feeling like a set up before Niall stuck his oar in. Now I felt manipulated from all sides.

Pam wasn’t happy, but I needed to do a bit of travelling. I planned to disappear under the radar, drop in on old connections and talk to new ones. Get Russell and Bartlett alone for a start, pin them down to find out what they really wanted if I could. Then maybe I’d have a clear choice by the two week deadline.

But I couldn’t shake the fact that Niall was right: Sookie would never be safe in Louisiana while de Castro was king.

After my chat with Rory I was less sure that Sookie would return. If Niall had deliberately sabotaged our relationship… well, perhaps that was understandable. I was vampire. He knew I’d have to marry Freyda. I was no longer useful as a protector for his great grand-daughter.

Maybe that had been done with Sookie’s interests in mind, but after my conversation with Rory I felt uneasy about his motives towards her now. Tomorrow I’d contact one of her Were guards, the sensible one. I would send her one last message, a warning not to trust Niall.

And it could serve as my goodbye.

I could draw a line under everything between us, one that would finally allow me to move on.


	24. Goodbyes

I’d set my alarm a little later that Sunday.

Not too late, I had a whole mess of things to do; but not so early, as I had anticipated a disturbed night. I was right – I had been restless, dreaming a jumble of things from the last week, including several scenes with Sam, full of shouting, heartache and visions of his broken body in a dark lot. I’d woken a few times in a panic.

I got up, and washed away my doubts as I splashed my face with water. I squared my shoulders and looked my reflection in the eye. I was going to fix this. I was going to get through today and tomorrow, and every day afterwards. I was a survivor, Kennedy was right, and I was not going to let this beat me.

However crap I felt inside.

I dragged myself to the kitchen for oatmeal and plenty of coffee, the radio on for company. It was a cool, crispy day, wind forecast for later.

I’d decided to skip church. Partly because I couldn’t face Sam if he was there. Or worse, Bernie. As a substitute I listened to one of the church services on the radio, and said my own heartfelt prayers over my third coffee.

I didn’t know if it was right to pray for success in the decidedly non-Christian removal of a strange magical join, but I figured my God was compassionate and would overlook the methods I had to use for Sam’s sake. I asked for Sam to come through the ordeal unscathed, and healed, and for the strength to do what was right by him. Right at the end I muttered a hurried appeal for Sam’s forgiveness, but it felt self-indulgent – I knew I just wanted relief from the guilt weighing on me.

I wasn’t confident that request was so reasonable. Or likely to bear fruit, Sam had good reason to be angry with me.

I should have been more up front with him. And myself. He was right, marriage was a partnership and I hadn't been treating him as a partner. More than that, I'd broken his heart. Not deliberately, but I couldn't return his feelings. He'd wanted that so badly.

Pushing that topic aside, I scribbled a list of things to be done, and one for what to pack. I made a few calls to folks I needed to see before I left. Then I loaded the dishwasher and went out to the back porch to load the last bit of laundry left in the house before I packed.

I went to the spare room to fetch a suitcase, thinking of the hopes I’d had for vacations with Sam, vacations which seemed unlikely to happen. One of Gran’s friends from the DGD had passed on last year and her daughter had come home from Atlanta, sorted through her mother’s house and had a yard sale. There’d been a whole nest of cases, good quality ones that the nice old lady – Veronica, I recalled – hadn’t used but twice before she passed. I’d paid a fair price for them, even though the daughter didn’t care about the money, in a hurry to get back to her own family. Since then, the cases had sat in the spare room closet, except for the smaller one we sometimes used for trips to Wright.

I pulled down the largest suitcase with a sigh, and let go of fond fantasies of Sam and me lounging on a white sand beach under a cloudless sky, cute fruity drinks with umbrellas besides us, the bar and our worries left far behind. Instead I pulled out a heavy winter coat, good boots and a comfortable travelling outfit, putting them on the chair ready for my trip.

An hour later I’d got the case half full of warm clothes, gathered a pile of toiletries on the bed, and was just hunting in the back of my closet for a bigger wash bag when I heard a car horn. I practically fell out of the closet in surprise, catching my head painfully against the door.

I rubbed the sore spot roughly as I made my way to the back door, muttering in annoyance.

I finally thought to reach out mentally just as I reached for the door handle, which turned out to be way too late. The door flew open, smacking into my hand and arm, as Tara's familiar voice called out for me.

I yelped, stepping back and shaking my stinging wrist. I snapped, “Shit, Tara, watch where you’re going! What the heck bit your butt?”

Instead of stopping or apologising, she let her momentum carry her right into the kitchen. She snapped back into my face, “Sookie Merlotte, what the hell is going on?”

Way too late I realised she was fuming, and agitated, and that was all going to rain down on me. Before I could get a word out or a handle on why she was fit to be tied, she took in a breath and started a tirade that had me backing up, hands raised defensively.

“I just came from church. Bernie was there, with a face like thunder. Why the fuck has Sam moved out? It was all anybody could talk about. Sheila Gibbs saw him moving in to the duplexes with his mom yesterday, and you know she got a mouth on her like the Grand Canyon. Everybody was asking me about it and all I could do was stand there flapping my jaw like a damn goldfish. And I had to find out from Maxine of all people. I thought we were supposed to be friends Sookie, but I don't have a clue what's going on with you. Everything was fine last weekend. What the hell happened?”

She was pissed about being out of the loop? Way to make the collapse of my marriage all about you girl, I wanted to yell at her, but I gritted my teeth and said drily, “It's been a busy week, Tara.”

“Yeah, so I heard. You never called me back on Friday. Why the heck did Sam have to spend a night in jail for a stupid fight with that dumbass brother of yours? Please don't tell me you threw him out for that.”

“I didn't throw Sam out. It was his choice.” Mostly.

“What? Why? Why would he move out Sook? That man loves you, worships the ground you walk on.”

 _Yes, b_ _ut who knew how much of that was really him,_ whispered that irritating little voice _._ Even he didn't know. That was the problem. Shoot – how the heck was I going to explain this?

“Tara, you know things haven't been right between us. Neither of us is happy. It's real complicated–”

“Well, how about you explain it to me,” she said fiercely, crossing her arms across her chest. “How you're letting the best thing that ever happened to you walk away.”

“I … There's things going on that I can't explain to you Tara. We're not good together right now. We need some space.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Some _space?_ You mean you need some space so you can invite someone over again?”

“What?”

Her face hardened, and the venom in her voice kept me paralysed, listening in horror. “You two have been up and down for months. He never got it into his head to quit on you and move out before. Why now, all of a sudden?”

She stopped then for a second, but I was too stunned to speak, flooded with a deluge of nasty snippets of gossip she'd heard at church, whispers and gasps about ‘that Stackhouse girl’ running around on her husband with a fanger … always knew that girl was bad news … no better than she should be …

“I think I know. See, Beth's daughter had a sleepover with a friend from Hotshot last night. One of the Norris girls. She told them Sam was over there last Sunday, shouting at Calvin about some vampire. Name of North-something she said.”

There were more images from church that morning: Maxine's glee while she repeated the juicy scandal to anyone who’d listen, Halleigh sticking up for me, attempting to downplay it, and Andy snapping at her she’d best stay out of it, no sense in getting dragged into a heap of trouble over someone else’s marriage.

Tara lost some of her edge as she carried on. “I thought they had to be wrong. No way would my sensible friend Sookie get involved with vampires again, 'specially that two-faced shit who divorced you for another woman. Nuh-uh, my girl's got too much sense to make the same mistake twice.” _But he turns up, Sam moves out. Shit, I bet she slept with him last week. Please don't let her have ruined things with Sam for that jerk._

I gasped at the sting of her thoughts, coming thick and fast on top of the horrible, shameful talk that had church buzzing like a kicked bee hive that morning. Something short-circuited inside me. Without a brain cell firing betwixt action and intent, my hand leapt up and slapped her.

The crack and the sting on my palm broke the dam in my throat that was holding back a torrent of indignation. I yelled, “Tara Thornton! How could you think that! I'd never break my vows or treat Sam like that!”

She gasped, hand flying to her cheek, eyes filling, but she yelled right back. “Then why did he move out?”

“Because that bitch Bernie told him to! Because we're both miserable! Because he hurt me Tara!”

“No. No, you can't kick him out for one stupid kiss, Sookie. You have to forgive him.” She was desperate, pleading, and she put her hand out to me, grabbing my arm.

The images running through her mind were a complete shock. I saw red. “Why? Because then JB will forgive you for – who the hell is Clive?”

She froze, shock, guilt, shame and intense anger competing to dominate her face. I scrambled to take back my words. “Shit, Tara, I didn't mean–” I felt her shaking with anger before she snatched her hand away.

“What the fuck, Sook?”

“I didn't mean to see that, I swear. I won't say anything to JB. I wouldn't do that to you.”

“No. No, of course you won't. You’re too goody-two-shoes, too kind to do that. You'll just sit there and judge me instead. Like you have ever since Eggs, since the orgy, since Franklin. Who do you think you are? Bullshit are you any better than me. You think knowing everything I went through you'd understand. Well, fuck you Sookie. I'm done helping you and Sam stay afloat. Done listening to you bitch about a perfectly great guy because he isn't the one that got away. But Sam is the one that stuck around. Grow the fuck up.”

I opened my mouth, not even sure what I was going to say, but she turned and stormed out, the slam of the door hard on her heels. I heard her car start and the spray of gravel as she left, muted by the rush of blood in my ears. Slowly I walked over to the table and lowered myself into a chair, still shaking with adrenalin. I rested my head on my arms, but I didn't cry.

I'd shed far too many tears this last fortnight. Hell, this last year.

In fact, once the shaking wore off, I felt strangely relieved. A blow-up with Tara had been a long time coming. If I was honest, we'd been drifting apart ever since the twins. We hadn't talked about anything real serious for ages. Running a business, being married, that wasn't enough to base a friendship on, even one that had lasted since we were teenagers. I guess even back then we hadn't picked each other, more fallen in together because neither of us fit in.

She hadn't understood what I'd gone through with the miscarriages these last few years, and however unfair it was to her, I did judge her for her thoughts about JB and the twins. And now … ugh. I really wish I could unsee what I'd seen her doing with that guy.

Poor JB. He deserved better.

And I didn’t care if I was judging her. Heck, she judged the hell out of me and I hadn’t even been unfaithful to my husband.

I powered through the rest of the packing, filling the suitcase. I dug out the item I’d chosen to fit what Niall said was required, wrapping it in a pretty blue silk scarf and tucking it away in my hand luggage. I checked off my packing list, finishing by tucked my passport into the front pocket. There. All done.

Now the to-do list. I looked it over while I ate a quick lunch. I had a few things I needed to do today; the rest had to wait until tomorrow.

…

I timed my visit to coincide with Jason Junior's nap. Michele took one look at me when she opened the front door, and pulled me into a tight hug. She rarely hugged me so it was all the more appreciated. She didn't say anything, but I heard her solid belief that I would heal from this, just like she had. It meant a lot, and I hugged her back just as tightly.

She had me sit at the kitchen table, and bustled into the living room, coming back with three glasses and a bottle of whisky just as Jason came in from the bedrooms. His face was soft with the look reserved for his son, but seeing me and what Michele was fetching, his mouth tightened and his eyes became sad.

They joined me at the table, and Michele poured us all a finger of liquor. “To better times coming,” she said lifting her glass. I echoed her toast, Jason mumbled an amen, and we all knocked the liquor back. I let the sting fade, and the warmth spread before I began.

“I guess the whole town knows Sam has moved out, so you won't be too shocked to hear things are at rock bottom between us.”

Jason snorted and muttered, “Good. You'll be safer.” Michele put a warning hand on his arm and he tried to look apologetic.

“It's okay Michele. He's right, but it isn't Sam's fault.”

Michele searched for a delicate way to say it sure as hell wasn't my fault, but I raised a hand to stop her. “No, it really isn't Michele. I need to tell you both what's going on, but you won't be able to tell anyone else.” Not without sounding crazy anyway. I was sorry to burden them with it, but I’d decided what I was going to ask of Jason could only be asked fairly if he knew why I was leaving. I took a deep breath and launched into my story.

It may have sounded a little over-rehearsed. I'd practised non-stop on the drive over.

“Before Sam and I got together,” and I was so proud I'd got that out without a hitch, “about three years ago, there was … an accident, and Sam was wounded, fatally. I did something that night to save Sam. I used a fairy item. Magic.”

Michele's eyes were round. Jason nodded with much less surprise, he'd heard that much from Hotshot I expected.

“Well, it did more than save him, but I didn't know that until last week. It also,” and here my words did catch in my throat and I had to swallow the guilt, along with the things I was leaving out as too painful and personal to admit. “It also put a kind of spell on Sam. One that's been getting more twisted as time goes on, and that's why he hasn't been acting like himself.”

Jason whistled. “Is it like that fairy spell on Uncle Dermot?”

“Not exactly, but it is making Sam do things he wouldn't normally do.” Like marry me when he knew I didn't feel what I should about him.

“Shit. So that's why he so out of control? You sure?”

“Yeah, Jason. I'm sure.”

Jason brooded about that, still unhappy that his little sis had been hurt. He felt that hadn't done right by me, hadn’t protected me. Michele sat back in her chair, staring at the table for a minute. She looked up at me, and thought clearly: _That spell have anything to do with you two getting together in the first place?_

Damn, the woman was shrewd. I nodded minutely.

“Well, that makes sense of it, for sure,” she said out loud. _Why you're with him, when he's not the right man. You done for good?_

I said quietly, “Yeah, I think so.” She nodded, thinking: _It's for the best._ I gave her a weak smile.

“So what do you need from us, Sook?” Jason asked, eager to help. He reached over and patted my hand reassuringly. “You need some sort of protection from him?”

I had plenty of protection, and it occurred to me how weird it was that he didn't know about that. But he had less to do with Hotshot proper these days, since … Oh. He was thinking of Crystal too, and how he should help me with Sam because he dragged me into his shit with her. He actually felt ashamed of the way he got me involved in that mess. Damn straight. A little late, but my big bro got there in the end.

“No, not protection, but I do need your help. There's a way to get rid of this spell, but I have to go away to do it.”

Jason's hand tightened on mine. “Sook? Go away where?”

This was the bit he wasn't going to like. “Europe. With Niall.”

“What? The guy that says he's my great-grandfather, but don't want anything to do with me? You going with him?”

“Yes, Jason. I have to. It's fairy magic. It's the only way to help Sam.”

Jason let go of my hand, and stood up. “I don't like it, Sook. I don't trust him.” He fidgeted for a minute, not sure what to do, taking in the set of my jaw and the determination in my eyes.

Michele knew how to handle him. “Jason, sit down honey. Sookie can look after herself. She'll be fine. A woman’s got to do what she has to do. Right, Sookie?”

“Yes. I'll be fine, Jason. I will. But I'm going to be away for a while.”

“How long?” he asked warily.

“Maybe six months or so.”

“You can't.” He looked at Michele then, and whined, “She'll miss the baby. She has to be here. What if it's a girl? I need her here. She can't go.” He was worried about losing the last bit of Stackhouse family he had left. The last connection to his boy's roots, the one person who could pass on Gran's recipes to his daughter, talk about her, and our parents, to his kids. I blinked back a few tears, realising how much he’d come to rely on Aunt Sookie for that.

Michele squeezed his hand. “We'll take plenty of pictures for her, and videos, for when she gets back. You won't miss a thing, Sookie.” Her matter of fact tone, her certainty I'd be back, it all worked to calm Jason.

“I'll hold you to that Michele,” I said, taking a deep breath. “So, Jason, I just need you to keep an eye on the house, air it out once in a while, and look after it while I’m gone. Can you do that for me?”

Jason spluttered that of course he'd do that, and we spent some time going over details. How the bills will all be taken care of, who to contact in an emergency, the insurance. Jason was a little overwhelmed at how serious it all seemed, but Michele took it in her stride so I knew they’d be okay.

When Junior woke up, I went to fetch him. I snuggled him for a moment, alone in his room with him. He was fresh from his nap, warm and relaxed against my shoulder. I baby-talked in his ear and drank in his smell, telling him in a whisper not to forget me.

I brought him into the front room, and we spent a pleasant half hour playing with his trucks, Jason watching us as if I might disappear at any minute. When it was time to go, I played it like any normal visit – no lengthy goodbye, no tears. I may have asked Michele to look after them both a little too sincerely, but that was all.

I looked back once, and waved cheerfully. They were too far away to see the tears threatening to spill.

I got home and made a casserole to use up the perishables in the fridge. While it was cooking, I boxed up all the dry goods from the cabinets and labelled the box 'Food Drive'. Michele was going to come over and empty the freezer for me in the next few days. Then I emptied the dryer, folded and put away all the laundry. I looked around the house, straightening up a few things, glad I'd had chance for a 'spring clean' Thanksgiving week and there wasn’t much to fix.

I sat down to eat just after sunset, and a text responding to one of my morning calls came in. Another item crossed off the list, which was shortening at an alarming rate. When I'd finished and tidied up, I fetched some nice letter paper and my best pen. I sat down to write the hardest letter I'd ever had to write.

…

When I pulled up to the gas station at nine, Pam stepped out of the shadows to meet me just like I'd asked. I was determined to do right by her this time. I wasn't going to abandon her without a word again.

She motioned me over to the passenger seat, and got in behind the wheel, adjusting the rear view mirror a little. She’d asked if we could use my car tonight in her text. She was dressed in running shoes and casual clothes, so I guessed she planned a run later.

“Sorry to drag you out again Pam.”

She shrugged. “Business is fairly quiet this early on a Sunday.”

She was quiet after that, as she drove out of Shreveport and back along the I20. Once we were on the interstate she seemed to relax. “So Sookie, what’s new?”

I sighed. “I just wanted to see you before I left.”

“You are leaving?” She said it neutrally. I couldn’t tell whether she was containing her reaction or she genuinely didn’t have one. Vampires and their lack of expression, I was out of practise with that.

“Yes. Temporarily. I hope.”

She nodded, and waited patiently for me to add more. Actually, now I’d started and she was reacting with her usual calm, I realised Pam was one of the few people I could tell everything.

“That Rory woman was right; there is a join between Sam and me.” I might not have to hide anything from Pam, but I skipped over the part about me not loving Sam. That was still too raw, and it should stay between husband and wife.

“And you have to leave because of it.”

“Yes. To remove it. There’s a way to get rid of it. Maybe.”

“That is what you want – to get rid of it?”

“Yes. Well, I have to. It’s hurting Sam, compelling him to do things. Maybe me too.”

She overtook a particularly slow pickup before she replied. “Does that have anything to do with your fights?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of winding Sam up when we fight. And Ludwig thinks that it’s making our arguments worse, and contributing to the … problems I’ve been having. With pregnancy.”

She flicked a glance at me. “That’s not a fairy thing?”

“Oh, no, it is a fairy thing. To be sensitive to stress and fighting to the extent that you lose… well, you know.”

“Ah. “ She thought for a moment. “Using the fairy token did this. It was part of your wish?”

“Yeah, sort of. Without me knowing it. That’s part of the problem. There’s a way to create joins safely, with lots of rules and conditions. The Cluviel Dor took it upon itself to make this one. So it’s too strong and it’s not made right. That’s why it’s hurting Sam.”

“So removing the join will heal things between you and the shifter?”

I didn’t correct her to call him Sam. I swallowed and said quietly, “I think we’re past healing. There’s … some other stuff, things that have happened between us. We’ve both made mistakes. He’s very angry with me. I don’t know if we can even be friends…” I turned away and looked out into the dark for a few minutes.

“But you will not know that for sure until it is removed.” Her voice was gentle.

“Maybe.” I didn’t hold out much hope. Maybe, maybe, maybe. That was all I had.

“Is the join dangerous to you?” she prompted after a lull.

“Niall seems to think so.”

“Niall?”

“Yeah. He’s the one who found a way to remove it.” In an effort to lighten my heavy heart, I added, “He’s taking me to England, Pam. I must admit I’m a bit excited to visit your birth country.”

She frowned, which was not the reaction I’d hoped for. “How long will you be gone?”

“That’s why I wanted to let you know. He says maybe six months. And I’m leaving tomorrow. I wanted to let you know, and tell you how much I appreciate you keeping me safe all these years. Even if you didn’t tell me what was going on, with the guards and all.”

“Sam did not want you to know.”

“Yeah, like that’s ever stopped you.” I was thinking of how she warned me about Freyda despite… Actually that was really odd. And now she was not looking at me, staring out at the empty road ahead.

Why hadn’t Pam told me? I had a feeling it wasn’t out of resentment for the way I’d treated her.

Why did it matter to Pam what Sam thought? Mr Cataliades had said something odd too… about a buffer between me and other supes. I said slowly. “Pam, is that really why you didn’t tell me, just because Sam said so?”

She shrugged. “He is your husband.”

I frowned. When Eric tricked me into pledging to him, he said it meant any request for me and my telepathy had to go through him. Oh, he was a _buffer_. “Everything has to go through the husband? Really Pam, you know that’s kinda sexist.”

She was amused. “It would be, if it worked like that. It’s not possession of a dick that decides which spouse can make those calls. Rather it’s their… status in our world. Sam is a true shifter. You are human, albeit a human with … extras.”

“Oh. I see.” Of course, lowly humans at the bottom of the pile.

Pam picked up on my resentment, and raised an eyebrow as she continued, “Fae, shifters, demons – they all form relationships with humans often enough that there are some protocols in place to deal with intermarriages. Things are set up so human spouses can be shielded, their interactions with other supes controlled, primarily to limit the spread of information. It’s respected as a way to keep things secret that need to be hidden, but it’s fairly weak system in terms of physical safety. Not enough bite to the penalties.” She gave me a fangy grin. “And usually such human spouses do not attract much attention. You, my friend, are too useful for your own good. Hence you needed guards too. It did appear that you wanted to stay out of things, or I would have risked the shifter’s wrath and told you. Sam never explained any of that?”

“No,” I said drily. ”Like I said before, we’re both too secretive for our own good. Thank you for explaining that to me Pam.”

“You are welcome.” She paused. “I would have done my best to keep you safe even without Eric’s resources.”

I stiffened at the reminder of Mr High-handed. “Yeah, I know.”

She eyed me carefully. “You no longer trust my maker.”

I shrugged.

“What happened between you?” Blunt as ever.

“What, other than him divorcing me and marrying Freyda?”

“Yes, other than that.” She eyed me again. “Which he didn’t have a choice in.”

I felt my chin rise in defiance. “Yeah, and I’m sure he just hated every minute swanning round as her King, raking in the dollars and bossing everyone around.”

“Yes, he particularly enjoyed his last twelve nights with her,” she said sharply.

Oh. That. The leg. The scars. The gloves. I swallowed. Yeah, it hadn’t all been a bed of roses for him, I couldn’t deny that.

Pam sighed. “Sookie. I don’t wish to pry. Well, no, actually I do. Eric and I do not sit around braiding each other’s hair, discussing lovers. He told me very little of what was going on at the time, but he has never meant you harm. It may be prudent to dispel some of the mistrust between you.”

I snorted. “Why? So he can waltz back into my life as if nothing happened?”

She considered that. “I do not believe he intends to pursue that course. I am thinking more along the lines of needing allies to keep your skin intact and breath in your body. You may need to trust him as you did in the past.”

I frowned, and then sighed. I could discuss it with her I guessed. It _was_ water under the bridge, a long way under, and I guess it couldn’t hurt.

“Well, you know he bargained with Sam to stay away from me for my bail money?”

“Yes, Freyda was most put out when he insisted on paying for that. And Eric was annoyed with her threat to deny him, and with Sam for not helping you out himself.”

“Sam?”

“Yes, he’s a business owner isn’t he? He had collateral to take out a loan.”

“Well, he was overstretched I think.” I hadn’t given it thought at the time.

“Bill had plenty of ready cash. I’m surprised he didn’t jump at the chance to help you out.”

“I guess Sam didn’t ask him, didn’t want Bill involved.” Although it was strange that he’d gone to Eric. Maybe that was down to some other weird supe rule I didn’t know about.

“Hmm. Perhaps. Sam told you then. What Eric asked of him, the conditions he set.”

That was a good point. Why hadn’t Sam just told me about it? It wasn’t like there was much Eric could do about it from Shreveport, with Freyda breathing down his neck. Perhaps there was some other damn rule about sticking to stupid deals. “Um, no. Sam didn’t say anything. Actually, Bill was the one who told me.”

“Bill? That’s strange. I don’t believe he wasn’t there when Sam came to Fangtasia, cap in hand for you.”

“He wasn’t? But he said… he seemed to know what happened.”

“Well, Eric did relate the whole scene to me later. And Bill was around then. He must have overheard.”

She let that hang in the air. Why would Eric … unless he wanted Bill to overhear? That made no sense.

Freyda, who was definitely threatened by Eric’s loyalty to me, was stuck to him like glue so she had been present, and I bet she wasn’t pleased, but surely Eric wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to know that he insisted that Sam stay away from me? Certainly not other vampires – I was a weakness and he didn’t like looking weak. Why would Eric want Bill to know? Vampires loved gossip, and Bill liked a chat over a Trublood with his fanged friends. I didn’t think Eric would have trusted him to keep quiet.

Pam said helpfully, “Some people are extremely predictable, while others do the opposite of what they’re told.”

I turned that odd comment over. Oh. Bill had told _me_. Very gleefully I might add, as some sort of payback for Eric’s interference in our past relationship.

Bill was predictable; Eric had expected him to tell me. Gotcha.

So who did the opposite of what Eric wanted?

Sam? No, he had stayed away from me like Eric asked. Sam had a tendency to go with the flow…

I didn’t though.

Especially with Eric, whose requests so often felt like orders to me, ones I’d resisted vehemently and repeatedly.

Oh fuck.

Pam was implying … Eric had manoeuvred me towards Sam.

I was angry when Eric left, even if I hadn’t admitted the depth of that anger to myself. To my shame, I’d even had a passing whim to use Bill to get back at Eric.

Instead, I’d thrown myself at Sam.

My jaw clenched. Even Sam had noticed how out of character our first encounter was.

Shit. My stomach dropped: I had an awful feeling that I’d acted on a subconscious belief that picking Sam would piss Eric off the most. Because I knew he’d wanted Sam to stay away from me.

I shivered. That one encounter might well have been it for me and Sam if the join hadn’t taken hold, tangled us together. I wondered briefly if our friendship would have weathered a one-time deal any better. My instincts said it might have been easier on me, but not on Sam.

I knew Eric thought, mistakenly, that there was something brewing between me and Sam back then. Was pushing me towards someone he thought I wanted any more palatable? Maybe it was better than what I’d assumed Eric had done, tried to keep us apart, something I’d resented solidly for the last three years.

But I didn’t feel any happier after Pam’s revelation than I had when I assumed Eric had acted out of a petty, spiteful need to hurt me, a possessive need to prevent me moving on.

I felt worse. Stupid, manipulated, belittled somehow.

Oh. Very similar to the way I’d felt about Bill’s plans to pension me off when he went to Lorena. I felt my lip curl in disgust, remembering Tara and Franklin.Eric had _passed me_ on to Sam, like a possession.

That annoying little voice whispered that maybe if things had worked out great with Sam, I would happily accept the shift in perspective, even feel a little grateful to Eric for giving me a push in the right direction, but I blocked it out and ignored it.

Instead I began to get angry with Eric all over again. High-handed bastard thought he could pull my strings.

Pam cleared her throat before I got a good stream of internal cussing going. “Eric believed you had already fallen for the shifter. That he would be good to you.”

“And what gave him the right to decide that for me?” I snapped.

She glanced sharply at me. “He might not have gone about it the right way, but he didn’t want you alone. It would have been … unsafe.”

I snorted, “Yeah, right. Arrogant sumbitch was just soothing his guilty conscience.”

I was still fuming. She glanced at my folded arms. “There is more.”

Oh, hell yes, there was more. And it felt good to finally spew it out. “No shit, Sherlock. He wanted to kill me _._ ” I deepened my voice to mimic the arrogant jerk, _“I should have turned you so we would never be parted_. That’s what he said.”

Pam blinked. “He said that?”

“Yes! After the divorce. After he promised all along never to turn me, even if I was dying.”

“I suspected that was the case after the fae war. He was very careful not to cross that line and bring you over.” She frowned. “He said you would never be parted?”

“Yes. Guess he would have commanded me to go with him.”

Pam turned to stare at me. Without blinking, and for far too long. “Pam, the road!” Jeez, vampires and their complete confidence in their ability to survive car crashes.

She shook her head as she turned back to the road, “That makes no sense, Sookie. He wasn’t even allowed to contact me or Karin, let alone take us with him. How would turning you have stopped Freyda separating you?”

I blinked. No. I wasn’t going to listen. “How would I know Pam? Maybe he meant I’d still be around after two hundred years. Maybe he meant if he’d turned me ages ago, Freyda wouldn’t have seen me as a threat. Hell, maybe he’d have just commanded me to accept his offer. You know, to go with him to Oklahoma as his _mistress_.”

Pam whipped her head round to me again. “Eyes forward Pam, for goodness sake!”

She chuckled as she complied. “I wish I’d seen your reaction.”

“What the fuck Pam? I don’t find being asked to play second fiddle to that bitch Freyda amusing.”

“No, it wouldn’t have been. You’d have been killed as soon as you stepped foot in Oklahoma.”

I scowled, and ignored her implication. Because I had thought of that one at the time, I wasn’t a complete idiot. “He was angry. He just wanted to see if I was desperate enough to say yes. Or heck, he had some weird old-fashioned idea that I would find it romantic that he couldn’t do without me, and no idea how offensive I would find it.”

She just raised an eyebrow, and deadpanned, “Of course. He slept through the last nine centuries, never talked to women, spent no time around them and didn’t have any relationships before you came along. And he is well known for grand romantic gestures.”

I glared. “He’s a manipulative, arrogant jerk.”

She smiled faintly. “Yes. He is. And he is usually so good at it. That was a grave miscalculation on his part – to suggest turning you or you becoming his mistress. Two things guaranteed to disgust you.”

I spent the rest of the drive with my arms crossed, glaring out of the window, refusing to understand what she meant. He’d manipulated me for his own ends and I didn’t give a damn why. He was a jerk, plain and simple. And she was on his side – vampires first, always. I wasn’t going to listen to a word more.

But when we pulled up behind the house I had a pang of regret. I hadn’t wanted to fight with Pam tonight. I didn’t know when I’d be back – _or if_ , said that damn voice – but I swiftly repressed my worries to concentrate on making amends.

I sighed as we both got out, and she walked me to the porch.

“I’m sorry Pam. I didn’t mean to take it out on you when it’s Eric I’m mad at. I really do appreciate your friendship, and everything you’ve done for me. I can’t say that enough.”

She smiled faintly. “Well, you are my favourite breather. That has its perks.”

I smiled back. “Thanks Pam. Jason’s going to take care of the house while I’m gone. And Mr Cataliades is my contact if you need to get in touch, but I’m going to be off the radar for a while.”

“Noted. Be safe Sookie. And be wary of Brigant. He may be family, but they aren’t always on your side.”

I nodded. “Take care of yourself Pam.”

“You too, my friend.” She winked and took off before I could think about hugging her. I sighed, pulled out my keys and headed to bed.

…

I was up early on Monday, a bundle of nervous energy. I got myself dressed and fed all too quickly. I checked my list several times over before I realised I was just making myself more anxious.

I head out in plenty of time to meet Mr C at the bank at nine.

As soon as we’d shaken hands in the foyer, I gave him a copy of my will, the one I’d drawn up with Sam’s lawyer after we got married. I wanted him to have it, he’d be the first to know if… I wasn’t coming back. He flicked through it, and when I confirmed I didn’t want to change anything, he nodded gravely and squirrelled it away in his briefcase.

The manager took us into the back office, and I signed twenty different pages to set up a power of attorney, and automatic utility payments from my personal account. I was real glad Niall had asked Mr C to sort it all out, especially when we got it all done in an hour with minimal fuss.

There was only one sticking point: I left an authorisation to take my name off the joint account, which the manager agreed to do if Sam came in tomorrow at the latest. Really we were both supposed to be present, but he’d heard some of the gossip and was prepared to bend the rules a little, worried that things might get volatile if we were in the same room. I hid my reaction to that, and just smiled sweetly at him, glad to be done.

Next we headed over to the police station. This visit was my idea, but Mr C agreed it was a good one.

I was half-glad, half-irritated to find Kenya and Kevin manning the desk, but it was better if Kenya heard this from me first hand. I asked if Andy could come out front too, just to be safe.

I told them all I was leaving for a vacation, a tour of Europe with a distant relation who’d kindly offered me the opportunity to travel after hearing about my recent marital troubles. Andy was a little suspicious that I was taking off because I’d gotten mixed up with vampires again. Why wouldn’t the Sheriff treat gossip as gospel? I suppose it did get passed around at church, but still.

Anyway, I didn’t care what was in Andy’s narrow little mind, as long as everybody was clear I’d left of my own free will, and Sam wasn’t going to get accused by Bon Temps overzealous finest of offing his wife when I upped and disappeared. By which I meant Kenya, who understood exactly why I was stood there on a Monday morning telling them my travel plans.

She was relieved I was getting away, and was actually sincere when she wished me well after Andy had finished blustering about being dragged out of his office to hear about my ’personal shit’.

Once that was over, we said goodbye in the lot. Mr C gave me a warm hug before we went our separate ways and I headed over to Kennedy’s house.

…

“Hi Sookie.” Kennedy was towelling her hair dry when she opened the door, and she still looked runway ready. Life just wasn’t fair. “You wanted a favour?”

“Yeah. It’s not anything huge.” I felt a little bad about asking, because I really didn’t want to involve her, but I knew she’d do it. “You working tonight?”

“Not until six.”

“Will Sam be in?”

“Yeah, think so.” She was starting to wonder what had happened that I didn’t know Sam’s work shifts for sure. She wanted to ask why I wasn’t scheduled to work this whole week too, but she held back.

I pulled the crisp thick envelope out of my purse, imagining that my fingers burned with guilt. “Could you give this to him? Be sure he gets it tonight.”

She looked at me for a moment. “Sure, Sookie. Anything you want him to know?”

I shook my head, avoiding her eyes. “It’s all in there.”

She nodded. “Okay. I won’t ask. Just … be strong.”

“I will. For the both of us.”

She stepped forward and hugged me, and I reciprocated. I almost let slip that I was leaving, but I didn’t have the time or inclination to face her inevitable questions. Ones I couldn’t really answer, and I didn’t want to lie to her.

I drove home, and grabbed a trash bag from the house. I spent a few minutes clearing out the trunk of my car and emptying the glove compartment.

A cough behind me had me pulling my head out of the back-seat abruptly to find one of the Were guards a few yards away. Shit, I was so caught up in everything I hadn’t heard her approach.

Brown hair, brown eyes, sensible shoes. “Hi, um, Margaret isn’t it?” I said hurriedly, covering my flustered reaction. “Is everything okay?”

She shook my hand. “Mrs Merlotte. Everything is fine. I have a message for you.”

“You do?”

“Just press okay. It’s all lined up.” She handed me her phone and stepped away to give me some privacy.

I found the button and opened the text she had waiting.

**Sookie. You have a strength all your own. You will succeed in your task. Be wary of Niall** **. Make your life your own, as much as anyone can. Be well. E**

I read it three times. I guess Pam had spoken to him last night. Did he think she’d softened me towards him? At least she hadn’t given him my number.

I read it again.

It wasn’t bad as final send-offs went. I appreciated his confidence in me, even if accepting a message from him felt uncomfortable, a small betrayal of Sam.

It had an air of finality about it too, which certainly fit the situation. I was at a crossroads, on the cusp of a life-changing decision.

I sighed, and deleted the text.

Margaret took her phone back and we exchanged a few remarks on the weather. I read her a little as we talked, just to be safe. She hadn’t read Eric’s message, didn’t seem to know anything about my trip, and was too polite to ask why I was on edge.

I was grateful. I didn’t want to think too hard about it all. Now I was over the rush to be ready, to organise everything, I was eager to be off before I began to second-guess the whole trip.

I went inside the house for a last minute freshen up, and changed into my travel clothes. I’d just hauled my bags to the front door and thrown my coat on top of the suitcase when a sedan car arrived. My ride.

Noon, bang on time.

I stepped out to greet the driver Niall had sent and invited him in to fetch the bags. I looked round once, twice, and checked the car keys were sitting on the hall table ready for Jason. I quietly rescinded all invitations, and re-invited Jason, Michele and Mr C. All set. I pulled the door shut, and looked around to check the porch was neat.

This was it. I breathed deeply, taking in the smell of home one last time.

Then I walked calmly to the car, got in the back, and we pulled away smoothly.

I didn’t look back.


	25. Epilogue: Sacrifices

I stretched under the blanket, pleased that Niall had paid for business class.

The seats were great. And I was real glad he’d booked a non-stop flight to London. I even had a window seat. Shame it was a night flight, though; the sun had already set when we left Dallas. I’d been too wired to sleep more than snatching a few catnaps in between movies, although I had tried. My body was still on Louisiana time and refused to believe it was much past midnight. Luckily, I had plenty of things to watch on my own little screen, right at my seat. That was real useful on a nine hour flight.

Once the window began to slowly lighten I’d itched to raise the blind, but I’d resisted for the last hour. It would be rude while people were sleeping.

Not that the seat next to me was occupied, but I knew some people found it difficult to sleep with even a chink of light. I was especially relieved that my seat was a little isolated, and that most of the business passengers were sleeping in the dark cabin. Guess they were used to crossing time zones. I was just thankful my shields weren’t strained.

Now that Anna, the friendly and efficient flight attendant, was coming round waking the passengers for landing, I felt I could finally lift the blind without disturbing anyone. I ignored the sounds of stirring passengers and gawped unashamedly out of the oval of glass, watching the clouds and then tiny fields and towns below us.

My excitement rose, and I allowed myself to enjoy my first taste of international travel despite the circumstances.

Getting through the sprawling busy airport was more of a challenge, but I made it through passport control without a hitch, found the right baggage carousel and grabbed my bag. Customs was a breeze, exchanging compliments with a cute English guy in uniform on each other’s accents. Yeah, I admit it, I was a little strung out on lack of sleep and adrenalin, but he didn’t seem to mind.

At arrivals, a large guy in a jacket was holding up a sign that read Stackhouse. He grinned at me, introduced himself as Dave, and took my bag in his meaty hand. We stopped at the restroom so I could freshen up. Then he steered me efficiently through the airport and out into the daylight. Waiting kerbside was a beautiful old-fashioned Rolls Royce in gleaming black.

I tried not to squeal, “Oh wow. Is this yours? That’s an awesome car.”

He grinned again. He had very little hair, deep brown eyes, and a kind weathered face. His thoughts were quiet, murky somehow, but I could tell he was relaxed, friendly. “Yeah, this is me. Her name’s Geraldine. The old girl’s quite a looker, ain’t she? Let me put your bags in the boot, and we can be off.”

 _Boot_. He called it a boot. I really was in England.

…

I sprawled on the back seat, the best place if I wanted to sleep Dave said. He’d brought a pillow and blanket out of the ‘boot’ in case, apologising that the drive was so long. I’d waved away his concerns, but he was right – it wasn’t quite as comfortable as business class on the plane.

The view made up for it though. I’d been disappointed not to see London, and so far we’d stuck to interstates – wait, excuse me, motorways – heading west. But the countryside was just what I’d pictured, even under a grey sky on a cold winter day: rolling hills, patchwork fields and cute woods. I couldn’t get over how different the trees were.

It got a little congested around Bristol, and I was glad I didn’t have the worry of driving on the wrong side of unfamiliar roads. And after we left the city behind, I got a few glimpses of the sea to my right as we turned south and drove through flatter windswept fields.

After we’d left the coast behind, Dave said we should stop for a bite to eat at a ‘service station’. When we pulled into the small lot, it was about one in the afternoon local time but it felt like breakfast time to me.

I was a little disappointed to find a few all-too-familiar fast food chains, so I tried a pasty, a local pie of meat and potato wrapped in a fold of pastry. Dave said his mum made better, but they were alright in a pinch. It made for a strange but filling breakfast, and the coffee was good.

After we hit the road again I did manage to doze for a while, but when the motion of the car changed I woke up to find we were on a narrow country road, bare hedges blocking the view on either side. I was fascinated by the houses and farms we passed now and then, and the sheep grazing on the hillsides. Even the road signs were novel and interesting.

As the afternoon went on, the clouds thickened and the sky darkened. We came to a fork by a gas station, and there, just after the turn, was a red phone box. I gasped excitedly and Dave grinned at me in the mirror.

The road passed stone cottages, and a whitewashed house with authentic leaded windows with diamond-shaped panes. I wanted to take photos, but I hadn’t packed a camera. Then we began to climb slowly, and the road wound its way through a steep wooded valley, with just a low stone wall on the right separating us from a river I caught glimpses off. It was breath-taking, but I was sure glad I wasn’t driving. Judging by the car’s speed, Dave knew this road like the back of his hand.

Nestled in the middle of the wooded valley, a couple of lovely houses and a sprawling inn, painted cream, flashed by far too quickly for me to appreciate. The road became twisted again, and began to drop, until we burst out of the trees into a more open area where the road swept into a tight curve, a wide bridge and a few houses up ahead.

“Nearly home,” Dave said cheerfully. He took a sharp left immediately after we crossed a second bridge, and drove down a narrow street. “The place is pretty quiet this time of year. Makes it easier to park.”

The road followed a gentle slope downwards through houses and shops. It was quiet, no-one around on foot. Then the view opened out on the right to reveal a bay with the sea behind it. Dave pulled over and parked next to the seawall. Wide-eyed, I took in the little fishing harbour straight out of a story book, boats floating with their sails furled on the grey water. I dragged my eyes from the sea to gape at the town.

The whole place was nestled along a narrow strip of land between the harbour and steep wooded hills that seemed to rise right behind the buildings. The houses were all painted white or cream, picture-book perfect. Opposite us to my left, where a narrow steep side road led up to a few extra houses crammed in against the hillside, there was a low black and white building with an honest-to-God thatched roof. It was gorgeous even in the fading light.

Dave saw me looking. “Yep, that’s us. Not too shabby, eh?” He grinned proudly.

I grinned back. “It’s beautiful.”

And a little reminder of home. The sign said: The Rising Sun.

I was still gawking as I followed Dave across the road and into the hotel. The receptionist was friendly and didn’t seem to mind that I was only taking in about every third word she said, distracted and gawking at my surroundings. I caught her say it was fourteenth century. Wow. I wondered suddenly if Eric had ever stayed somewhere like this, and then giggled at an image of him hitting his head on the low lintels.

The receptionist smiled at me uncertainly and I realised that excited and overtired was a kissing cousin away from all-out hysteria. I dragged my attention back to her and forced my tired mind to concentrate. I signed where I was told, and followed her through a maze of corridors and stairs up to my room.

I mumbled a distracted ‘yes please’ to her suggestion of a light meal in my room, and then embarrassed Dave when he brought my bags in by trying to tip him. Apparently, that wasn't done except for wait staff. And I wasn't to let anybody fleece me just because I was foreign and cute, he said sternly. I thanked him warmly instead, startling him with a quick hug that had him blushing and clearing his throat. That famous British reserve was real I guess.

As soon as the door shut, I darted around the room, oohing and ahing over the lovely décor, the enormous half-poster bed with its canopy (and I may have bounced on it a little, just to test it) and the cute old-fashioned windows. I even got a buzz from the clunky plugs and wall sockets.

Then I checked out the bathroom. It was lovely, despite having a slanting ceiling because it was right under the eaves. With its wooden floor and claw foot bath, it was just beautifully decorated without damaging the charm of the old building.

By the time a quiet knock announced the arrival of my food, I'd managed to calm down and I’d gotten half way through unpacking. I ate the delicious bowl of soup served with rolls, and was almost finished getting everything squared away when Dave arrived to take the tray. He told me Niall was arriving tomorrow, and I should try to stay up as late as possible to help with the jetlag, but my eyelids were already drooping.

I managed a hot bath with my hair tied up so I wouldn't have to dry it, and then fell into bed exhausted.

…

I woke while it was still dark. I'd been sleeping so badly lately that I’d slept like the proverbial log for a whole twelve hours, and I felt much better. I washed my hair and blow dried it, and then pottered around the room until the sky began to lighten at eight. I threw the drapes open and watched the sea while the light changed, listening to the gulls screeching at each other.

I felt peaceful. Ready.

I went down to the dining room, following the smell of breakfast so I didn't get lost.

It had a low ceiling complete with dark wooden beams, dark wood panelling and bare stone feature walls. There were dark tables to match, laid with gleaming cutlery on pristine white tablecloths. A collection of pretty painted plates and pictures of landscapes decorated the walls, and a welcoming fire crackled in the fireplace.

The room was almost empty, just a few elderly couples and two middle-aged men talking quietly over their breakfasts. I wasn't astonished to find Niall sitting at a table in the corner, dressed rather casually for him in slacks and a warm sweater. He was reading a large newspaper at arm’s length. The Times.

“Sookie.” He greeted me with a smile, folded the paper, rose to kiss me and then pulled out my chair politely. “Are you well rested?”

“Yes, thank you.” I was still floating, adrift from the rhythm of the day, but I didn’t feel that wrung-out jittery tiredness that I had the previous evening after being awake for far too long.

A waitress appeared and Niall ordered two English breakfasts and a pot of tea after a glance in my direction. I was ravenous, having skipped a meal or two travelling, so I nodded enthusiastically.

When my plate arrived it was piled with bacon, sausages, fried tomatoes, mushrooms and eggs. The waitress brought a stack of toast, some ketchup and a brown sauce which turned out to be nothing like barbecue sauce as I expected, but something else entirely, not as sweet, more spiced. It went well with the sausages.

Niall gingerly tried a few things, and then sat back to watch me as I ate with gusto, washing it all down with the fragrant but strong tea.

As I poured myself a second cup he brought out a hip-flask and, before I could protest, he poured a generous amount into my cup. “It will help with the change of time, my dear,” he said.

It wasn't liquor I discovered when I took a cautious sip. And he hadn't elaborated on which time change he meant, I noticed that. I'd trusted him this far though, so whatever the concoction was it made sense to take it if he said it would help. I reckoned I needed all the advantages I could get. I gathered my courage and drank it down.

Niall waited while I went to freshen up and change into the 'shoes suitable for a hike' that he’d told me to bring.

I came back down wearing my toughest sneakers, carrying my thickest coat, gloves, a scarf and a hat. Hey, I was a warm weather gal.

We stopped in the lobby and I pulled my coat on as Niall shrugged into his own coat. A gust of cold air blew in when he pulled the door open, and I glanced longingly back at the warming dining room before I stepped outside.

…

It was cold, but Niall's car, another compact hybrid, warmed up quickly. We drove out of town and inland, following another wooded valley until he pulled off the road and parked on a rough patch of ground under the trees. Before he got out, he said seriously, “Are you certain you want to do this, great-granddaughter?'

“Yes. I have to. I owe it to Sam.”

“And you enter into this willingly?”

I knew there was more to that question than I knew, but I had no alternative. “Yes. Willingly.” It sounded more confident than I felt.

He nodded and we got out, bundling up in our gloves and scarves. We tramped through the woods away from the road until we hit a wide path. Luckily the ground was dry, and the woods were quite open under the tall trees. It was cold and damp, but Niall set a brisk pace that kept the chill at bay.

We followed the trail until Niall took a smaller path off to the left. After a few minutes more we came to a stone wall that cut through the woods. A dry stone wall – the stones were rough and unshaped, and it had no mortar. Only the skill of the builder and the shape of the stones held it together, Dave had said yesterday when I asked.

Our little path lead straight to where the wall was broken by two large roughly hewn stones planted in the ground. The stones came up to my shoulder, and leant apart slightly, creating a narrow v-shaped gap in the wall between them, with a small low stone step built across the bottom at right angles to the wall.

As I frowned at it, perplexed, I realised the step was for climbing through the narrow gap. It was something I'd read about in my period romances – a stile. One with some strange markings carved on the two large stones to either side.

Niall was watching me. He gave me a small smile and a nod when I looked at him. “Here is where we must part. Do you have your offering?”

“Yep.” I patted my hip to reassure myself that the bundle wrapped in silk was still safely buried in my pocket, and ignored the sudden quickening of my heart. This was it.

“Do you remember what I told you?”

“Don’t stray from the path. Don't eat anything. A guide will meet me.”

“Good,” he said seriously and leant forward to kiss me. I felt a sizzle of fairy family goodness, grateful for the small boost of strength it gave me. My hands were sticking to my gloves with anxious sweat.

Niall turned to the stile and pulled off his gloves before he touched the stones on either side, tracing over the carvings and speaking melodious but incomprehensible words. The air shimmered in the gap for a second. “The way is open.”

“Well, here goes nothing.” He took my hand to steady me as I stepped up and over and through the gap before I could blink, let alone form any second thoughts.

When I stepped down on the other side I landed jarringly, a jolt running up my leg. Once I had my footing, I turned and smiled at Niall to reassure us both. “Piece of cake. See you soon.”

I set off down the path, glancing back a few times to find him watching me until I turned a corner. I breathe a deep sigh once I was alone, and let go of any doubts.

Too late to turn back now.

…

The trees were different here, and the ground was covered in a thick, crunchy layer of yellow and brown leaves, smelling of damp and rot. I ploughed determinedly along, shuffling the leaves deliberately and enjoying the noise, humming to myself as Niall had insisted I leave my phone and all other technology behind.

He'd even been a bit concerned that the metal in my belt buckle might upset the creature I was going to see. Apparently she was temperamental. Niall had arranged for a guide to take me to her, but she had been reluctant to allow even that, only agreeing in the end because she owed Niall a favour.

As I followed the path on autopilot, I tried not to worry about exactly how temperamental she was.

Especially as I had to come alone; it was one of the rules. Niall had said, in a firm tone, that even if he could come, it wouldn’t be wise for him to visit her again so soon. And Niall’s favour or not, I still had to make an offering, give up something valuable to me, before she’d hear my request.

There was no guarantee that she’d grant it.

So to sum up what I knew: this creature was temperamental, demanding and powerful enough that even Niall treated her with respect. I’d come to beg a favour from her, so I was nervous as a whore in church about how that was going to go, and walking through some woods wasn’t enough to distract me.

Not that there weren’t other things that rang alarm bells about this whole trip.

I’d almost choked when Niall told me that I would need to travel 'outside my own realm' as he ominously put it. Not to the mythical Fairy Realm. Oh no, I still wasn’t welcome there, in my own kin’s homeland, despite the peace and the new council. I had to go somewhere else. A place of power, Niall called it. Only accessible at certain times, at what he called a crossing point, where the membrane between realms was thin. I guessed that was the stile.

Then he’d dropped the next bombshell: that time moved differently in this place of power, and the day I’d need to spend here to make my request would be a much longer time for folks back home. Months, he didn't know exactly how many.

In fact he'd been pretty vague about what else to expect, as usual. The uncertainty about what I would face added another heap of worries to my growing pile.

A rustle of movement broke the thread of my thoughts. Startled I looked up to catch a flash of white between the trees. A deer? Just in time, I stopped myself taking a step forward to get a better glimpse of the animal trotting gracefully away.

“Stay on the path,” I muttered to myself as I turned back to it and lengthened my stride. I concentrated on covering the ground, making progress towards my unknown destination.

I heard the stream before the path came along side it. The path widened on the flat, earthy bank and the shallow water gurgled beside me, a pleasant sound as I picked my way between stones and tree roots, until the trees began to thin. The path narrowed again as it left the trees behind and broke out into daylight.

I stepped warily out of the shade to find myself at the bottom of a horseshoe of steep hills, swathed in thick tufts of grass. The little valley was deserted.

I followed the path as it switched back and forth, climbing the hillside at a gentle slope. I was still sweating when I reached the top. I stopped to ease the stitch in my side, pulling off my gloves, scarf and hat, and stuffing them into my coat pockets as I took in the landscape that lay spread before me like an open book.

The sky was dark, bruised with heavy purplish clouds and glowing beneath them with a strange colour, neither golden nor grey, that promised bad weather. The air around me gleamed, swimming with that clear yellow light you get sometimes before a storm.

I heard a lonely cry, high up, cold and sharp. A bird? I tilted my head back, straining to see it against the dark clouds. I couldn’t make it out. The air was close, and I opened my coat, warm from the steep ascent I’d made, my calves still aching as I looked at the path I had to follow.

The land was raised, hunched against the sky above, pressing up against the weight of the heavens. Flattened brooding hills sulked in every direction, featureless and bleak, blanketed with coarse yellowing grass and loose stones.

Dark low shrubs, barely a foot high, grew in patches on the hills like a spongy mould. I walked ahead to where they grew close, brushing the path. Sprays of purple flowers, that one was heather I thought. A stunted bush I didn't know with glossy oval leaves and small blue-black berries. I bent to pick one, and then remembered Niall's warning and left it untouched.

I pressed on.

I don't know how long I walked under that oppressive sky. The light didn't change, and the sun was hidden. I crossed the swells of two long sweeping hills, diligently putting one foot in front of the other, following the faint trail and praying I wasn't lost. I crested a third hill, head down to watch my feet so I didn't turn an ankle on the loose stones, and only looked up when I registered the silence.

The harsh landscape I was crossing had held life. I'd seen signs of livestock, a hoof print or two preserved in dried mud, sun-dried poop scattered by the path. A few spiders, beetles and the odd pretty red moth had skittered and fluttered away from me. I had relaxed into a rhythm, and begun to enjoy the wildness around me.

Here, on the top of the moor, pressed against the sky, nothing moved.

Ahead the land was burnt as far as I could see. The grass was grey, ashy and withered, the shrubs reduced to brittle black skeletons standing frozen in a ruined landscape.

There was an unnatural stillness to the place.

I stiffen, grasped my mettle firmly, and walked on.

The burnt shrubs snapped and crumbled when I brushed against them, the only sound in the eerie landscape. I put one foot in front of the other, humming a stupid pop song under my breath for comfort.

I was halfway through a third repeat of it when I saw it.

A movement up ahead.

Something brown and tan had shifted behind a loose pile of rocks by the side of the path. A cairn, a way marker – I’d read about them in my hotel room, a thousand light years from here. I could see that the path petered out beyond it.

As I approached, a figure rose gracefully from where it had hunkered down behind the cairn. It was a woman, compact, athletic, dark haired and tanned. Human I thought, but I couldn't read her. Her mind was there, just obscured, like it was behind frosted glass. Her face was weathered, dirty. I couldn’t guess at her age. She had white clay stripes painted across her cheeks. It reminded me of the sunblock skiers wore.

She wore strange clothes too: leather hides sewn together with coarse stitching, soft footwear akin to moccasins. Feathers and clay beads were woven into her hair haphazardly and more beads and teeth hung on a cord around her neck. I didn't miss that she had a dagger hanging at her side, and her eyes followed my movements constantly, warily.

“Soo-kie.” Her voice was rough, and as she stumbled over my name I saw she was missing a front tooth, the others crooked and stained yellow.

“Yes.” I nodded.

She turned wordlessly, and strode across the burnt grass straight as an arrow. Her gait was fluid, feline, reminding me painfully of Bernie.

I followed.

…

We went on, my guide as noiseless as the desolation stretching around us.

Abruptly we came to a hollow, hidden by the land until we were almost on top of it. The dip was barely big enough to contain a stunted tree and a pool about twenty feet across.

The sudden splash of green around the water was shocking, unnaturally bright after the grey ash.

My silent companion didn't falter, loping her way down to the pool. I followed her to the water and examined my surroundings, glad to have reached my destination at last.

The tree was some sort of thorn, bare of half of its mean tattered leaves, its branches tangled and wind-swept into a twisted shape like an old man hunched over by years of toil. Even its small dark red berries were dull and shrivelled.

There were things tied to the branches nearest the pool. Ribbons so old they'd faded and frayed. String. Bits of cord and rope. A braid of hair. A glint of metal flashed here and there among them. A bunch of black feathers, with a flash of white caught my eye.

Oh. Feathers. Bones. The dried remains of a bird, maybe a long-dead crow, had been trussed tightly and hung upside down from a branch.

I shivered, and looked down at the water.

The pool was still, a perfect mirror for the menacing sky, ringed with rich dark mud. I stood back from it, keeping my feet on dry ground.

The woman grunted. She waited for me to look and mimed a throw aimed at the water. “Eas-tor-hild,” she said slowly, followed by guttural words I couldn’t decipher. “Eastorhild,” she repeated urgently, along with her mime.

I nodded that I understood, and put my coat down on the grass, away from the water. I wriggled my 'offering' out of my jeans, and unwrapped the soft blue silk. I picked the green and gold object out of the fabric; its smooth cool weight heavy in my hand, with none of the jangling power it used to possess that drew others to it.

The Cluviel Dor was just a pretty shell. It seemed appropriate to use it for this.

Lost in my memories of the trouble it had caused, the greed it had inspired, I startled when two firm grubby brown hands took the silk gently from mine. I looked up into honey-coloured eyes. She motioned the silk at the tree, and when I dipped my head and smiled tentatively, she smiled back, her face suddenly warm and open. She jogged round the pool and swung up under the tree, deft fingers quickly tying the silk to a branch, leaving a long trailing end to float gently in the air.

She came back and gestured at the water, smiling and encouraging me.

Okay. Avoiding the mud, I stepped as close as I could to the pool. I ran through Niall’s advice: keep my appeal simple, respectful, clear. Feeling foolish, I cleared my throat and broke the silence, speaking firmly and loudly.

“Eastorhild, I give this offering to you. I ask you to break the join it created and free my husband Sam Merlotte.”

I tossed it gently into the centre of the water. The surface swallowed it silently, slow lazy ripples spreading outwards to lap against the muddy bank.

…

I waited while the ache in my calves grew and the quiet throbbing from the knee I’d injured in Dallas became insistent. I was tired, sore, hungry and thirsty. I'd focused on getting here, driving myself on and blocking out everything else.

Now it looked like my journey had been a huge waste of time, all my discomfort and pains came rushing in, compounded by my frustration and anxiety.

What was I supposed to do now? I asked myself angrily.

I'd chased my tail halfway round the world, crossed into another damn realm for goodness sake – we sure weren’t in Kansas now, Toto – and all to throw a hunk of stone into a pond.

Gee, I could have done that at home.

I was damned if I was going to give up that easily. Okay, I’d tried respectful. I had nothing to lose.

“Eastorhild!” I yelled. The shout ripped through the still air. I yelled it again. And again. Hey, it worked in that film Betelgeuse didn’t it?

I waited as the last shout faded, watching the smooth water as I began to despair.

There.

A flicker of something disturbed the surface in the centre of the pool.

Again, and over by the tree too.

It spread. The reflected sky distorted and blurred, then vanished like a popped bubble. The silver surface roughened, as if ruffled by a strong breeze beyond my senses.

Just as suddenly, the surface snapped flat again. But instead of mirroring the glowering clouds it was transparent, a window to what lay below.

The pool was deep and dark, weeds swaying in and out of the gloom, underwater fields of soft green strands floating like hair on the currents. Caught in the delicate fronds, offerings made by long ago pilgrims to this peculiar shrine glittered and shone in the murk. Jewels, sword hilts, chains, a goblet.

The weeds parted. I gasped.

Eastorhild.

She was achingly beautiful, lying on a bed of fronds that rose slowly, a vision of the past in an elaborate blue gown embroidered by hands long turned to ash. Her face was relaxed, as if she slept, with the high cheek bones of a supermodel, delicate eyebrows and thick lashes fringing her closed eyelids. Her long blonde hair floated gently, woven with water lilies.

I thought: _Snow White in a glass coffin._ _Beauty preserved forever, at a terrible cost._

The weeds stirred and she tilted upright, her head rising. A beat before her crown broke the surface, blue eyes snapped open and bored into mine. Something flickered in their depths, beneath her icy stare.

She rose like Venus from the sea, but not half so sweet.

As she crossed the surface she transformed. Her hair became slimy with weeds, her skin waxy and grey. Her dress was rotting, unravelling. Her eyes were dead, glazed a milky white; her face distorted, purple and swollen; and her thick tongue poked from between her ravaged lips in a grotesque parody of playfulness.

She glided to the edge of the pool, stopping a foot in front of me. Close enough for a waft of week-old fish and decay to reach me.

I stood stock still; my eyes frozen open, too wide and itching for moisture. I was torn between horrified sympathy and a violent need to throw up. Petrified, I didn’t move a muscle, mental or physical.

She leaned slightly towards me, and I felt the weight of her in my mind, a thick cloying suffocating pressure. It rolled over me, around me, pushing, pulling, seeking a way in. I felt my knees weakening, the back of my neck cold and hot at once, black spots flashing in my eyes.

Then it was over, and I staggered as the weight lifted.

She spoke then, in a gentle teasing voice, whispering. It was a while before I noticed her lips weren’t moving.

“A fae child, one of the sky.”

I found a crumb of strength to answer. “Human. Mostly human.”

A soft, breathy laugh. “You are good at hiding from yourself.”

It was disconcerting hearing her speak but seeing her ruined face frozen in a blind unmoving mask. I fought the urge to look away, straightened my spine and put as much force of will into my words as I could muster. “Will you help me?”

“You have courage. If I do what you ask of me, what will you give me in return? Your life? Another's?”

I hesitated. Swallowed.

The soft laugh again. Then she raised her arm stiffly, water running from her bedraggled sleeve. She reached out for me and I couldn't quite stop myself flinching when she pressed her palm against my chest, over my heart. But I stood my ground, figuring that showing weakness would be a mistake. Cold water seeped across my thin sweater, heat leeching from my skin where her hand rested. I repressed a shudder.

“A wall so thick, the one you’ve built. So much fear.”

Oh, yes. I was very afraid. Afraid she might take my life right then, freeze it straight out of me. Ice filled my stomach, and a frosty chill burrowed into my chest from her hand.

She broke the contact, letting her arm fall rigidly back by her side. “Fear me not child. I am past the need for life.”

Yes sirree, I reckoned she was. Taking my life wouldn't make her any less … a rotting corpse. Yeah, there was no polite way to say that, so I kept my mouth firmly shut. Frankly, she was scaring the crap out of me.

A breathy sigh. “You see only the surface. Do not pity me. I have drunk deep of life and love, and had my fill.”

I didn't know what to say to that at all.

“But you have suffered. For little reward.” She sighed again. “Wet your lips, took a sip, never downed love’s draft. Never gave him a chance.”

Startled, the words fell from my mouth before I could catch them: “Sam? My husband?”

“That well has always been dry. You do this for him?”

I nodded.

“What you ask will free him.”

That I might lose him completely was left unsaid to hang in the air like a bad smell. I swallowed. “I know.”

“Do you pay the price willingly?”

I screwed up all my courage to say it with conviction, like a happy bride in church. “I do.”

“You must bathe in these waters.”

I looked from that ruined face to the unnaturally still water behind her and back again in disbelief. A surge of disgust and fear filled me. She'd lain in it, soaked in it. What would that water do to me?

“It is the only way,” she whispered.

Oh shit.

I felt a violent desire to run, not to let a drop of that pool ever touch me, but I locked my muscles and rooted myself to the spot. I had to do this. I had to. I stood still, torn between terror and the solemn promise I'd made myself to do whatever it took to do right by Sam, whatever it took to free us both.

My legs shook, tense with the effort of going nowhere.

 _Any woman worth her salt does what she has to do._ Gran's words. Stackhouse words. I was a Stackhouse through and through.

 _I had a strength all my own._ Eric’s words _._

I could do this. I would do this. I took in a big gulp of air, and another, and another. Slowly the tension eased.

I turned away from the vision of decay standing statue-like before me, away from the water that gave me such a strong sense of doom, and I sat down gently on the grass. I tugged off my sneakers and set them neatly besides my coat. Pulled off my sweater, my tank. Unzipped my jeans, shucked them and my socks.

I glanced at the clothes I'd mechanically folded into a neat pile, and was struck by how surreal such a normal everyday thing seemed in this bizarre place.

Two honey-coloured eyes were watching me seriously when I stood and turned back towards the pool. Feather girl touched her chest, then her forehead. I hoped that was a gesture of respect meant to wish me luck, not a blessing for those about to die.

Or worse.

I stepped gingerly down to the mud. Eastorhild had moved from the edge to wait further in, her tattered dress trailing in the water that supported her on its surface.

I fixed my eyes on the bright blue silk hanging from the tree on the other side of the pool and stepped forward, ignoring the sticky wet mud. I moved slowly, step by step, refusing to look down, my toes gripping the uneven mud and rocks for balance. The blue silk swayed, enticing me on.

The water swallowed me in bites. My ankles. My knees. My hips.

On the next step, my foot met soft fronds where it expected hard rock. And I was swallowed whole.

I plunged down, icy water squeezing me, a burning starting in my ribs. Cold numbing water pressed in at my mouth, my nose, my ears. I sucked it in before I could stop the impulse to breathe.

My eyes were open, the pale glimmer of the surface fading away as I dropped like a stone towards the dark.

 _Don't look down. Don't_ , I thought fiercely. I tilted my head up to the light and thought of the sun, its warmth on my skin. I imagined the sky, a clear blue summer sky wearing white clouds to fit its mood, soft and playful, sunshine filtering through green leaves, dappling the ground.

I didn’t struggle.

I breathed in. Out. Cold trickled down into my chest, a ringing filled my ears.

A cloud turned from white to grey.

Another.

They grew, multiplied, rolling across my clear blue sky, darkening it with grey menace. The world darkened, the light dimmed under the trees. The sun was imprisoned, trapped behind them, unable to reach me, to penetrate the dark depths.

Gentle fronds brushed my arms.

I breathed again, agonisingly slowly, lethargically. Fronds were wrapping round my arms and legs, insistent silky bindings inexorably dragging me down.

So cold. Dark. Heaviness in my lungs.

Bony hands grasped at my shoulders, dug in like a vice and yanked me upwards, as I kicked and struggled to escape, to be left in peace. The sharp fingers dug painfully deep and didn’t let go.

Light grew brighter, breathing was easier. Something blue and soft brushed my cheek.

_Enough, child. It is done._

Then I broke free, heaved up above the water into the air.

I hung there for a moment, then fell forwards, face down onto the mud with a wet slap. I scrambled to lift myself up, leaning heavily on my arms as I coughed violently, water gushing in spurts onto the ground.

When the coughing fit passed, I wriggled forward onto the dry grass and lay on my stomach, too weak to move any further. I felt a vibration under my cheek, pressed tightly to the ground. Footsteps. A heavy covering was laid gently over me.

I slept. Or passed out.

…

Eventually the world, or whatever the heck that place was, washed over me like the sea reclaiming driftwood, tugging me back to life.

I raised my head off my arm to find feather girl squatting a few feet away, watching me.

I wrinkled my nose in distaste, smelling rot on my skin from the pool, and a heavy musky smell. I moved slightly, and her hide cloak slipped against my shoulder. That explained the animal smell.

I sat up carefully, holding the cloak around me for warmth.

No sign of Eastorhild. Can’t say I was sorry about that.

I opened the cloak a little, checking myself over. I was chilled, smeared with mud, but still very much warm-blooded and alive. I squeezed my eyes to clear away a few tears of relief.

I brushed them away with my hand and froze.

My rings. My wedding and engagement rings were gone.

The cold. When my hands were cold, the rings got loose on my fingers. Then I remembered the fronds slithering off me as I was pulled upwards, and I somehow knew that the rings had been taken deliberately.

I blinked back a few more tears, and tried not to read any significance into the loss of rings that Sam had given me. If that was the only price I’d paid, I should be grateful. I looked at my empty finger and prayed that was all I’d lose.

Feather girl was waiting patiently, watching the sky.

She gestured to my clothes when I got slowly to my feet, and I handed her back her cloak with a dip of my head for thanks. She swung it onto her shoulders and I dressed quickly, ignoring the gritty mud and my cold fingers. I felt a little light-headed, and decided it must be because I hadn't eaten or drunk in so long.

I forced myself to follow her up out of the hollow, and over the burnt patch of land, heading straight and true.

But in a new direction, we weren't retracing our steps. I searched the horizon for the cairn in vain. After I almost twisted an ankle on a loose rock, I gave up trying to work out where the hell we were heading and concentrated on my feet and keeping up with my once more silent companion.

She stopped when we got to the cairn, which appeared out of nowhere.

I could see the path beyond it. Feather girl made that strange gesture again: chest then head. I copied it awkwardly back to her and her eyes crinkled with pleasure. She was still at the cairn when I glanced back the first few times, and then she was gone.

Head bent to watch my footing, glancing up only occasionally, I wondered who she was and why she was tied to that lonely place. It was a distraction from the oppressive sky and the odd light. And the fact that I was pretty sure this was a different path to the one I arrived on.

But I kept going, doggedly putting one foot in front of the other, head bowed with fatigue for the most part. The rough grass strewn with stones changed to accommodate patches of heather and the shrubs with the blue-black berries again. I wished I had something to eat.

I looked up some time later and saw woods ahead. I picked up my pace, and reached the little valley where the path cut down the steep hillside. I winced, anticipating pain from my old knee injury as I started the descent. But it was fine. I was still chilled to the bone and figured that was keeping the pain at bay. I was careful not to jar it all the same.

I passed into the woods and gasped in surprise. Gone was the blanket of autumn leaves, replace with a carpet of blue flowers as far as I could see. I slowed and looked around. It was so pretty. I wanted to pick some, but that meant stepping off the path. I reminded myself sternly not to do that; I wouldn’t make a mistake so close to the finish.

By the time I got to the stream, I'd taken off my winter coat and tied it round my waist. It definitely wasn't December anymore. I pulled up the sleeves on my sweater, finally feeling the cold in my bones thawing.

I came around the last corner to find the stile and Niall waiting for me. I practically flew across the last few yards, desperate to get 'back' to my world. Niall scrutinised me seriously, but smiled once I was only a few feet away.

“Child. Welcome back.”

I grinned. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

I bounded up onto the stone step and reached for him. He took my hand and helped me down. As my heel hit the ground a wave of intense fatigue rolled over me, and I stumbled. Niall caught me, holding my elbow firmly to keep me from falling.

He murmured something, and pressed his hip-flask into my hand. I managed a few swigs between chattering teeth, but when he took it back my eyes rolled up into my head and the world span.

I came to again sitting in the front of Niall's car. He was crouched in the open door, brushing hair out of my face.

“You need rest. Sleep for now.”

I mumbled a panicky question and he shushed me. “You will be fine, you are only exhausted.”

I shook my head, and repeated weakly. “Did it work? Is it gone?”

He smiled broadly. “Yes, my dear. You did well. I am very proud of you.”

“Thank goodness.”

I managed a little prayer of thanks, before the car started and my eyes drifted shut.

My last conscious thought was of Sam. I rubbed my bare finger with my thumb and hoped he could forgive me. For everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue is something a little different.  
> The location is North Devon, based on many happy summer holidays I spent there, and the atmosphere was inspired in part by Susan Cooper’s books and other fantasy novels I read as a teenager which are rooted in the British countryside and Celtic myths. Quite far away from SVM, but I thought it fit with Niall’s possible origins.
> 
> Eastorhild (or Estrildis) is a ‘real’ legendary character. I was looking for a Celtic goddess or woman linked to the region and associated with water to tie in with the Celtic belief that pools were windows to the spirit world, sacred places to make offerings. I couldn’t believe my luck when I read about Habren and her mother Estrildis. She was perfect – I wanted the character to be both frustrated with and sympathetic to Sookie's history.
> 
> I was even more pleased when I read about Clootie Wells and wish trees after I written this chapter and found I’d used the right sort of tree by picking a hawthorn.


End file.
